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SHrougs Grace fo Glory. 





MEMORY SKETCHES 


FROM THE LIFE OF 


HARRIET STEER. 


‘ONLY A SINNER, SAVED BY GRACE.”—ZH. S. 


“T SHALL BE SATISFIED WHEN I AWAKE WITH THY LIKE- 
NESS.”’—David. 


CONCORD, N. H.: 
PRINTED BY EDWARD A. JENKS. 


1887. 





Copyright, 1887, 
By S. R. STEER. 





Dedication. 


TO 
ESOC) Ya OLe Lr RILNDS.. 


OF WHICH 
Batre 1b eR 
WAS A BELOVED MEMBER AND A FAITHFUL MINISTER: 
TO 
HER LITTLE NAMESAKE, 


HARRIET STEER HOWELL: 


TO 
MLL WHO-ONCE CALLED HER HOUSE “ HOME:” 


AND .TO 
HER PRECIOUS MEMORY, 
Venera eeNIHKRED, “THROUGHIiGRACE, INTO GLORY,” 
tihit lO CGHANGH HER PRA VERS 
LO ETERNAL PRAISES, 


Ohis Book 


1S AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 


LEM Te ORIG TOV NOK Ni (I DY 5G 


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an a 7 os? - Y ond abe il = at Br nn — : 
: TS Fe ae Ae ee ;. My ee 
We ae we tire o. 
> bey f i's Fe 
a & c a “ 
~ +. oe . . he “w 








“@by business on earth fous to hatch ober and 
so faithfully, so ferbently fous it done, that f 


intercessions is not pet exhausted, but, like a defo 





drop dofon upow us us long as foe libe.’’ 





PREFACE. 


S I linger in thought about the sacred name of 
“1 << Mother,” memory’s rapid survey of the scenes 
of childhood’s sunny days leads me with tearful eye 
and emptied heart to exclaim, ‘‘ What a mother!” 
The ‘‘ Memory Sketches” are written in prayerful 
hope that she who was during her lifetime a blessing 
to two generations may yet live in memory, so that 
her influence shall descend in benediction upon gen- 
erations to come. They are also written as a tribute of 
gratitude to God for the gift, through so many years, 
of such a mother. I would thus lay upon her tomb 
these fadeless flowers of memory, all fragrant with 
the ‘‘summer of her living love,” asking those who 
read to unite their prayers with mine that her Saviour 
may be honored, and that the name of her God, who 
led her all the way ‘‘through grace to glory,” may 
be magnified in their lives as they unitedly join in the 


acclaim,— 
“* Hallelujah! what a Saviour!” 


6 PREFACE. 


The subject is worthy an abler pen than mine, and 
a more perfect history of a strong, sweet life conse- 
crated to humanity and to God. 


‘*But, Master, take the tiny stones that I have brought: 
Set each one by Thy Masterhand of Grace, 
Form the mosaic as Thou wilt for me, 
And in Thy temple pavement give it place.” 


Shee 








Gir 


** Not changed, but glorified!” Oh! beauteous language 
For those who weep, 
Mourning the loss of some dear face departed,— 
Fallen asleep: 
Hushed into silence—never more to comfort 
The hearts of men ; 
Gone, like the sunshine of another country, 


Beyond our ken. 


O dearest dead! we saw thy white soul shining 
Behind the face 

Bright with the beauty and celestial glory 

! Of an immortal grace. 

What wonder that we stumble, faint and weeping, 
And sick with fears, 

Since thou hast left us, all alone with sorrow, 
And blind with tears ! 


Can it be possible no words shall welcome 
Our coming feet? 

How will it look, that face that we have cherished, 
When next we meet? 

Will it be changed, so glorified and saintly, 
That we shall know it not? 

Will there be nothing that shall say ‘* I love thee,” and 


*¢T have not forgot’’? 


NOT CHANGED, 


O faithless heart! the same loved face, transfigured, 
Shall meet thee there, 
Less sad, less wistful, in immortal beauty, 
Divinely fair. 
The mortal veil, washed pure with many weepings, 
Is rent away ; 
And the great soul that sat within its prison 
Hath found the day. 


In the clear morning of that other country,— 
In Paradise,— 

With the same face that we have loved and cherished 
She shall arise! 

Let us be patient, we who mourn, with weeping, 
Some vanished face: | 

The Lord has taken,—but to add more beauty 


And a diviner grace. 


And we shall find once more beyond earth’s SOLrows, 
Beyond these skies, 

In the fair city of the ‘*sure foundations,” 
Those heavenly eyes, 

With the same welcome shining through their sweetness 
That met us here,— 

Eyes from whose beauty God has banished weeping, 
And wiped away the tear. 





BOUT GLORIFIED. 


Think of us, dearest one, while o’er life’s waters 
We seek the land, 

Missing thy voice, thy touch, and the true helping 
Of thy pure hand,— 

Till, through the storm and tempest, safely anchored 
Just on the other side, 

We find thy dear face, looking through death’s shadows, 


‘¢ Not changed, but glorified.” 


‘There shall be no night there.” 
—St. Fohn. 





4 ay a 
fee Soo oO 
7 vas 3 
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MEMORY SKETCHES. 


OE RUN is the name of a quiet, unobtrusive 

manufacturing village, situated on a little stream 
bearing the same name. It flows through a pictu- 
resque part of the country, and empties its unpretend- 
ing contribution into the Brandywine, thus increasing 
the flow of that historic river as it winds in and out 
between the fern-clad hills of Chester county, Penn- 
sylvania. ‘This quiet valley was the birthplace of the 
dear one whose life these sketches are designed to 
commemorate. She was born in the evening twilight 
of the eighteenth century, 8th mo., 20, 1795, being 
the third child of Enoch and Hannah Harlan. She 
possessed a buoyant temperament, an active mind and 
hand, and, being one of the oldest of twelve children, 
was a great helper to her mother in the increasing 
cares of a growing family. Thus was she early train- 
ed in the discipline of service for others, which after- 


wards comprised so large a part of her busy, active life. 


12 THROUGH GRACE fr 


Her mother was firm, almost to sternness; and from 
her, in a measure, was inherited the steadfastness — 
which marked the character of my mother, and gave 
her an unflinching loyalty to principle that was man- 
ifest in all the decisions which, in her future life, she 
was called upon to make. She had nine brothers and 
two sisters, one of the latter dying in infancy, and 
while my mother was but a child. The other sister 
was Rebecca Hayes, who was eighteen years younger, 
and greatly beloved and cherished by her. This sis- 
ter preceded my mother, by a few years only, to the 
heavenly home. ‘Truly can it be said of them, ‘‘They 
were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in death 


they were not divided.” 


‘¢ Why do we call them lost ?— 
They are within the door that shuts out loss, 
And every hurtful thing !” 


During the years of my mother’s early childhood 
her parents were not members of any religious society, 
but were most worthy examples of honest integrity, 
and were highly respected in the community as intel- 
ligent and useful citizens. The fact that her father and 
mother were non-professors of religion increases our 


wonder that the subject of these sketches should have 





L10- GLORY. LS 


felt condemnation for sin at so early an age.. In very 
tender years she was burdened on account of sin, and, 
as she expressed it afterwards, was greatly concerned 
for the salvation of her soul, which she realized was 
immortal, and must spend an eternity either in a state 
of bliss or woe. A child of but six years to bear this 
sense of sin was remarkable, but she was very mature, 
and of an intense nature; and these early convictions 
were impressed upon her mind by the marginal read- 
ings in the old-fashioned spelling-book from which 
she conned her daily lessons, reading fluently at this 
early age. These marginal readings were scripture 
texts, which she, in after life, believed to have been 
impressed upon her young heart by the vitalizing 
power of the Holy Spirit. They were as follows: 
eS inoumsod seest me; ‘* My son, do no sin;”. **Go 
not in the way of bad men;” ‘‘ The eyes of the Lord 
are in.every place, beholding the evil and the good ;” 
*¢ The darkness hideth not from God,”—and other pas- 
sages of similar import, which, to her quickened con- 
science and vivid imagination, were really fearful and 
alarming. ‘Thus she grew in years and ‘‘ increasing 
responsibility,” as she expressed it. She would often 
urge her parents to go to Friends’ Meeting, which 


was near the school she attended: this they sometimes 


14 ee UGH GRACE = ata 


did, and eencany became somewhat interested in the 
quiet service there. About this time she was much 
impressed by the earnest preaching of a Friend named 
William Savory, who visited the neighborhood; and 
her heart’s desire seemed to be, above all earthly 
things, to know the way of the Lord more perfectly. 
She has often, in her later years, been heard to say 
that she at that time just longed for some Christian 
minister, or some devoted servant of God, to take her — 
by the hand, and speak words of sympathy and guid- 
ance to her, as she felt herself to be literally groping 
in darkness. The following simple little poem, which 
she found many years afterwards, and carefully pre- 
served, as expressing so fully just what her young 
heart was yearning for at that time, is inserted here, — 
with the hope that it may lead some who read it to be 
more thoughtful and faithful towards the little ones, 
who often thus long for helpful words of guidance and 


cheer: 
“A Little Hamb g Astray.” 


‘¢Oh! I wonder, if there ever 
Was a little girl like me, 
With so many, many heart-aches 


That nobody seems to see! 





TO GLORY. 15 


«¢ Oft I’ve heard the great, wise preachers, 
And the deacons, good and kind, 
Tell about the way to heaven, 


And how easy ‘tis to find. 


*¢ And I’ve thought and thought upon it, 
For I long to know the way ; 
But I’m such an awful sinner 


That I am afraid to pray. 


*¢ Now, I wish they’d come and tell me 
How their Jesus I could seek ; 
For'they say He loves the children, 
And will guide their tender feet 


*¢ Into pastures green and pleasant, 
And by waters calm and still,— 
Make them gems of brilliant beauty 


Their Redeemer’s crown to fill. 


‘« But ’t was just the other Sunday, 
When our pastor preached so good, 
That I thought he saw me listening, 


And would stop, and speak a word ; 


‘¢ But he only said ‘ Good morning !’ 
And the usual ‘ Are you well?’ 
Though I pressed the hand he gave me, 
Hoping thus my grief to tell. 
























THROUGH GRAC. 
‘¢ Then I stole away in secret, 
And I cried so very long, 
That mamma was greatly troubled, 


For she feared I had done wrong. : site 


‘¢ And at night she tucked me snugly 
In my little trundle-bed ; > 
And so softly pressed the tear-stains 
In a loving kiss,—but said 


‘¢ Not a word about her Jesus 
5 I was hungering so to know: | 
Oh! my poor, poor heart seemed breaking, 
For I longed to find Him so. 


‘¢T have tried so hard to find Him, 
But I do not know the way ; 
And nobody seems to notice 


There’s a little lamb astray. 


‘¢ Does Jesus care, I wonder, 
If I never find His fold? 
I’m almost sure I love Him, 


Though I’m not so very old. 


‘‘T should think the grown-up people 4 
Would so love to speak His name, A 
When He did so much to bring them 


To the home from which He came! 


LOMA LORY, OW 


*¢ And when I’m a Christian mamma, 
I will tell my little girl 
Just the way to come to Jesus— 


How to find the priceless Pearl: 


*¢ Then [’ll tell the dear good pastors 
Who all know the way so well, 
To stop the little children 


And the sweet old story tell.” 


Though my mother was converted at a very early 
age, yet she did not come to the full consciousness of 
what it was to be a child of God—to the blessed * as- 
surance of faith” for which her earnest soul yearned— 
until she was nearly fourteen years old. At that time, 
through solemn and faithful preaching of a full and 
free salvation through Christ—accompanied with the 
power of the Holy Spirit—in a meeting of Friends, at 
Fallow Field, Chester county, Pa., her soul was set 
free, and translated into the glorious kingdom of 
the Son of God;—the Sun of Righteousness arising 
in her soul, all the darkness was dispelled, and she 
rejoiced in the knowledge that the Light was Jesus. 
As nearly as can be recalled by memory, she thus 
described her feelings: ‘‘Oh! as I came out of that 
meeting, it seemed to me as if the whole face of nature 


had been changed since I had gone into it. It was a 


18 THROUGH GRACE 


new world to me, and I was a new creature. Every- 
thing was rejoicing: the very leaves on the -trees, as 
they glistened in the sunlight, were singing praises 
to the God I adored, as my Father in heaven; the 
stones along the road-side glittered in beauty ; a halo, 
as if reflected from my happy heart, rested on all that 
my eyes beheld; and I could only in the gladness of 
my redeemed soul say continually, ‘ Praise the Lord, 
praise the Lord for His wonderful goodness to me, 
only asinner saved by grace—saved by grace.” Near 
this time, her parents became seriously interested in 
attending Friends’ Meetings; and when my mother 
was about fifteen years old, they requested to be re- 
ceived into membership with Friends, and also desired 
membership for their children. ‘This was a source of 
heavenly joy to her who had so long been seeking 
the light, and desiring the spiritual uphi of true 
and constant Christian fellowship. 

Her life from this time seemed to flow on in the quiet 
service peculiar to the society into which she had en- 
tered with such heartsome gladness. As the years 
advanced she found herself increasingly surrounded 
by the stern realities of life; but its commonest duties 
were now more and more transformed into her truest 


pleasures. 





TO GLORY. 19 


TE CD MO ME OO SE MO 


‘* The Master came and touched her heart, 
And lit up all her life with radiance new,” 


so that the joyous, happy-hearted girl was not only 
the stay and support of her mother, but the light and 
inspiration of all about her,—the mainspring of action 
in that busy, happy household,—shining where most 
needed—in the centre of the home circle. 

Some years after this great change in the religious 
surroundings of his family, her father emigrated to 
the ‘‘ Far West,” as Ohio was then considered. The 
journey was a novel one, made in wagons, and other 
families accompanying them, and (as related in after 
conversations) must have been very full of interesting 
incident to the wide-awake, appreciative, and fun- 
loving girls who together made that journey. 

My grandparents settled fourteen miles up the river 
from Zanesville, Muskingum county: and now began 
the struggles and hardships of pioneer life, which 
rested somewhat heavily upon this only daughter of 
the family. But she was in perfect health of body, 
possessed a mind full of the practicalities of life, and 
an elasticity of spirit which carried her safely over 
many a mountain of difficulty, and enabled her to 
double many a cape of danger, many a promontory of 


peril, which a less brave, less sanguine temperament 


20 THROUGH GRACE 


would consider as impassable, and not to be attempt- 
ed. Thus her buoyant nature, like a glad sea vessel, 
sailed happily on over the deeps of God’s love to 
her,—the while His voice within her heart had given 
her soul sea-room; and, unfurling the sails of her 
new-found joy in Him, she gladly obeyed the bless- 
ed command that she should ‘‘ Make the land of 
He ties: 


At this time a change occurred inthe routine of her 
life. An opportunity which she had long sought was 
opened to her. She had a great desire to gain a more 
extended education than she had been able to secure 
in the limited opportunities which were afforded her in 
Pennsylvania. An intimate friend of her family, en- 
gaged in teaching school at Mount Pleasant, Jeffer- 
son county, Ohio, some sixty miles distant, offered her 
a position where she‘could be at once both teacher 
and student. She gladly accepted the situation, and 
entered his family as a boarder. Here she was intro- 
duced into a charming circle of younger as well as 
older friends, to whom she became ardently attached. 
She threw all the powers of her vigorous mind into the 
coveted pleasure of acquiring knowledge, spent cer- 
tain hours in study and recitation, assisted Jesse Gause 
in his school, and also found time for the delightful 





POCGLOURY:. ZI 


association with the young people whom she met in 
his family and elsewhere, as she became more exten- 
sively acquainted. She was a favorite with all classes ; 
‘but, true to her principles as the needle to the pole, 
she became at once the attraction of the circle of young 
Friends, and the guide and inspiration of their minds 
into deeper religious channels, into nobler avenues of 


thought, and to higher aims in life. 


And now events of a peculiar interest began to fore- 
shadow the future of this dear one’s history. It was 
during her stay in Mount Pleasant, and while forming 
other delightful associations, that she met him who 
was to become her husband. Samuel Steer was the 
son of Joseph and Grace Lupton Steer, who resided 
at that time in Mount Pleasant. This acquaintance 
soon ripened into more intimate relations, and an early 
engagement of marriage was the result. In conse- 
quence of the sudden death of Grace Steer, the antic- 
ipated marriage was consummated much sooner than 
had been planned by the happy couple. It was de- 
cided that they should, as soon as possible, arrange 
to occupy the home saddened by death. ‘Thus at her 
marriage my mother was brought into a position of 
great responsibility and perplexing care. But her 
elastic, happy nature acknowledged no difficulties, 


22 THROUGH CALE 


Oe Se Re 


shrank from no ae but sprang to the emergencies 
before her with a strength and an ardor becoming a 


noble, self-forgetting woman, who anticipated: no de-— 


feats; and with the inspiration of a new enthusiasm 
she entered the untried sphere of action. 

It was mid-winter when she, with her future hus- 
band and accompanying friends, started on horseback 
to travel fifty miles to the nearest Meeting of Friends. 
They reached their journey’s end at last, and were 
married at Barnesville, Ohio, the day after Christmas. 
Of course they were united by ‘‘ Friends’ marriage 
ceremony”—the most beautiful and appropriate form 
of marriage in the world of then, or now—where, in a 
meeting of the religious Society of Friends, met for 
worship, the bride and groom elect arose to their feet, 
and, taking each other by the hand, the groom spoke 
first, declaring as follows: ‘‘In the presence of the 
Lord and this assembly, I, Samuel Steer, do take thee, 
Harriet Harlan, to be my wife; promising, through 
Divine assistance, to be unto thee a faithful and affec- 
tionate husband until death shall separate us.” And 
then the bride: ‘‘ Inthe presence of the Lord and this 
assembly, I, Harriet Harlan, do take thee, Samuel 
Steer, to be my husband; promising, through Divine 


assistance, to be unto thee a loving and faithful wife 














TO GLORY. 23 


until death shall separate us.” This union was 
one of almost perfect happiness. Her religious life 
was constantly invigorated by the hallowed and hal- 
lowing influences which surrounded them in their 


mutual love,— 


“« For they had pitched their tent with faith-lit eyes, 
One window opening toward Paradise.” 


My mother’s first home, as wife, was in Mount Pleas- 
ant, where Joseph Steer then resided. A few years 
later they removed to his farm, about three miles from 
the village. Here my mother spent some of the hap- 
piest, saddest days of her life; for it was here that 
her health, which had hitherto been almost perfect, 
received a shock from which she never fully recov- 
ered. This was in consequence of having moved into 
a freshly plastered stone house,—which abrupt trans- 
fer was made because a sudden storm struck the little 
log-cabin which had been their happy, consecrated 
home since coming to the farm, and unroofed it, thus 
hastening the occupancy of the new house. It proved 
asad move to them. ‘The cherished wife took cold, 
was attacked with pleurisy, and carried down, down, 
almost to the gate of death. She was graciously 


spared, however; and, beginning to recover, was at- 


Dies | THROUGH GRACE 


tacked with another form of eee known as acute 

neuralgia, affecting the nerves of the head and face. 
From the agonizing pain of this disease she was never — 
entirely free for nine consecutive years. Through all 
this long period of severe suffering she was sustained 
by the loving care of a most devoted husband, and by | 
that grace which led her all the way to glory. The 
writer well remembers some of these early years 
of suffering and pain: how cheerful she was, how 
thoughtful for others, how uncomplainingly it was all 
borne. For weeks and months together no loud 
word was spoken in the home; and so careful and 
assiduous were the attentions of her husband, that all 
the wood which was burned upon the hearth in that 
sick-room was first charred in another, that the crack- 
ling noise of fresh wood burning might not add to her 
suffering, as even the slightest noise did. He also 
caused to be made, and worn in the house, cloth slip- 
pers ;—even the little ones, of whom there were two 
pattering about, had to wear the noiseless slippers. 
Everything was done which the most ardent affection 
could devise, accompanied by the best medical skill 
which the time and place could afford. The physi- 
Clans seeming completely baffled in their efforts to 


reach the causes of the disease, and after my mother — 





TO GLORY. 25 


OU A 


had endured untold suffering from both disease and 
remedies, my father determined to try change of cli- 
“mate and travel for her. So, in their own private 
conveyance, they set off for her native state, travelling 
by easy stages, and as the beloved invalid could bear 
it. To his deep joy, my father found that she improved 
a little, and was able to bear more travel each day. 
They had often to stop, however, when the paroxysms 
were too severe to journey on. I have often heard 
my mother refer to this journey with grateful joy, as 
she recounted the mercies by the way, the joyous 
ministrations of her husband, who was literally never 
weary or discouraged; and then, too, the faithful up- 
holding of her covenant-keeping God, who was the 
stay and support of both while thus passing ‘‘ under 
the rod” which was to mark them as His own. ‘This 
discipline of pain and sorrow was wondrously blessed 
to both, and fitted them for the deeper baptisms which 
were to follow. . 

When they reached her old home they found them- 
selves among friends, who advised them to consult a 
physician of note at Lancaster, Penn., Dr. Burrows. 
Accordingly they proceeded on their journey thither, 
and were as tenderly received by strangers as if they 


had been their own kindred. Thus they went for- 


26 THROUGH GRACE 


ward, ‘‘not knowing ;” but with her strong grasp of 
faith my mother believed that the Lord was truly lead- 
ing them. Dr. Burrows took the case in hand, and 
mother remained there under treatment for several 
months, experiencing much benefit. At the end of 
that period she felt she must retrace her steps, and 
join the little ones whom they had left to the care of 
kind neighbors near Mt. Pleasant. Their return jour- 
ney was made with less difficulty, and in a shorter 
time, as the invalid was so much better that she could 
bear more continued and also more rapid travel. 

My parents were received most joyously and grate- 
fully by friends and neighbors. They found the chil- 
dren well, having been most faithfully cared for. 
They were too young to remember father and mother 
distinctly, and to the tender inquiry of the latter, as 
she asked the elder of the two, ‘‘ Don’t thee know 
thy mother? I am thy mother!” Elizabeth looked 
searchingly and half believingly into the waiting face 
before her, and then said, in childlike simplicity, ‘I 
know that my mother sent me these little red shoes, 
but I don’t know that thee is my mother!” When 
mother told her she had sent the shoes, the child 
believed, and was happy. 

They now left the farm and were again located in . 


TO GLORY. a7 


the town, where they were surrounded by all their 
friends, who could thus do much to add to their enjoy- 
ment and comfort. The following years were full of 
pain and suffering, though greatly mitigated by the 
treatment of her physician at Lancaster, which treat- 
ment was pursued as far as possible in her own quiet 
home, where she faithfully performed the duties of 
life, which never seemed to weary or discourage her, 
as she was enduring so patiently the trial of her faith 
and ‘‘perfecting holiness in the fear of the Lord.” 
She never gave up work and the care of her family : 
these years brought in their train anxiety and sorrow. 
Her own dear father died at his home near Zanes- 
ville, which was a deep personal grief to her; and her 
widowed mother and sorrow-stricken young sister 
came to visit my mother, and together they mingled 
their sorrows and sympathies, their tears and their 
prayers, which is ever so sweet a solace to all who 
mourn. Another source of trouble at this time was 
that the Society of Friends, to the principles of which 
she was so closely bound, was passing through deep 
trial and testing, into which my mother entered with 
all her soul, but was never swerved for a moment 
from her allegiance to the religious principles which 
she knew her beloved society held. She was at this 


hs ats eee, Se a ee ee 


28 THROUGH GRACE 


TO RD 


time most lovingly associated with and greatly upheld 3 3 


by Jonathan and Ann Taylor, David and Rebecca a 


Updegraff, and others more experienced than herself, 
with whom she walked the tribulated path, and to- 
gether they battled with the great waves of doubt and 
infidelity which at that time threatened the peace and 
purity of the beloved society. Thus was her soul 
linked to theirs in a harmony of brotherly love which 
no after separation by time or distance had power to 
change. It was a sanctified Christian fellowship, 
which, even in this changing world, changes not. 
‘*Blest be the tie that binds 
Our hearts in Christian love ; 


The fellowship of kindred minds 
Is like to that above.” 


After a few short years had passed, circumstances 
led to a removal from the scenes and the dear friends 
to whom their hearts had been united in a love which 
was to bind them for time and in eternity. But the © 
sustaining thought that nothing could separate them 
from the all-compassionate love of Jesus upheld them, 
and they went gladly on their way, feeling that as 
heretofore, so now they were being led, though they 
knew not whither. They seemed to feel the inspira- 
tion of these lines of Whittier,— 





TO GLORY. 29 


Me Oe ME EP ME A 


“We know not when His fronded palms 
May lift themselves in air ;— 
We only know we cannot drift 
Beyond God’s love and care.” 
And they also rejoiced that they had each other, their 
motto seeming to be,—‘*‘ Each for the other, and both 
for God.” 

It must have been in the spring of 1833, when with 
their two little girls they started for the city of Cincin- 
nati. In referring to the trials which she was to 
meet in this new home, my mother has often been 
heard to say that it was a most gracious hand which 


hid them from her view. 


“When over dizzy heights we go, 
One soft hand shades our eyes; 
The other leads us safe and slow— 
Oh! love of God most wise!” 

Their associations in their new home were of the 
pleasantest kind, although they were indeed threading 
a straitened pathway. Dr. William Judkins, whose 
wife was my father’s sister, had, with his family, pre- 
ceded them to the city of Cincinnati, and they, together 
with a delightful circle of friends, made their coming 
and the passing years very joyous. Such names as 
Mary Anthony, William and Phebe Shipley, Ann 
Shipley, Ephraim and Charlotte Morgan, Caleb and 


Oe ee ee ee 


30 LHROUGH (GRACE 


SD 





Mary Taylor, Mercy Mitchell, William and Jane 
Crossman, Elijah and Naomi Coffin, Rebekah Gest, 
Joseph and Eliza Bonsall, Ezra and Elizabeth Baily, 
and others of like precious memory, were their living 
examples then. ‘These worthies are nearly all in glory 
now. But though their coming among the dear people 
here seemed auspicious, yet unseen clouds were even 
then gathering, and coming events were casting their 
shadows on this dear mother’s sunny pathway. The — 
change of climate which she experienced in her re- 
moval to this city had improved er health so that the 
long pain was nearly gone, yet she saw and felt the 
forebodings of a coming sorrow in the declining health 
of the dearest object’ im life to her. "No onesoui ae 
Master knows the deep baptisms of her soul as she 
ventured to look this dreaded sorrow in the face, and 
to plead with deep anguish of heart that it might be 
averted. She made a renewed consecration of her- 
self. She yielded up all—her own life, if He would 
accept it; her children; everything zz life; every- 
thing except Zer husband. She has often said that in 
all her efforts at perfect acquiescence in the divine 
will, she still kept her hand upon this idol of her heart, 
and would plead in broken accents,—‘*‘Oh! not 


my husband; spare my husband!” The Lord pa- 














TO GLORY. 31 


tiently waited, the while ‘‘ He was preparing her for 
that which He was preparing for her.” Meantime He 
gave her many joys and fireside pleasures,—sweet 
Christian fellowship with her husband, and the rela- 
tives and friends, with whom they mingled in loving, 
social joy, and the still closer bond of sympathy which 
united them in the same religious society with which 
they worshipped, as they took sweet counsel together 
and ‘‘ walked to the house of God in company.” Thus 
nearly five peaceful years were passed. About this 
time my aunt, Rachel Judkins, whose health had been 
gradually failing, was quietly taken from earth to 
heaven, her last words being, ‘‘ Be still, and know 
that I am God.” She left a mourning family, and 
among them a tender babe, to whom all hearts turned ; 
and my mother took this little nursling to her heart, 
and for a time was as a motherto her. This dear one 
has reached the years of womanly grace, and, as 
«* Auntie” was the first word her infant lips learned to 
lisp, could she now be consulted she would doubtless 
say there were few dearer names on earth than that of 
** Aunt Harriet.” This family affliction was keenly 
felt by my father and mother, and, as a common sor- 
row always does, it drew them nearer together. 


The grief-stricken household turned to my mother for 


DEST HARA Oi SU pestis SOT gt al gn UR re ee 





32 THROOGH GRACE 


OE A St SU Me Te UE CE Pe ee SE 


human comfort and guidance; and she was indeed as 
a mother to them. The only son of the family—then — 
not fully grown to manhood’s years—became Dr. 
David Judkins, whom she in after years delighted to 
remember as her ‘‘ beloved physician;” and most 
faithfully and lovingly did he minister to her as long 
as she lived. 


The sorrow which my mother had dreaded, and 
from which her human heart tremblingly recoiled, 
was not longer to ‘be averted. At last it fell with its 
crushing weight, when my father, who had been seri- 
ously ill but two days, rapidly sank away, and, on the 
evening of 3rd mo., 23rd, 1838, peacefully breathed 
his life out. He had the glorious hope of a blessed 
immortality through a crucified but risen Saviour. His 
last words were, ‘‘ Nothing in my way: all is peace.” 

‘‘ With silence only as their benediction 
God’s angels come; 
When in the shadow of a great affliction 

The soul sits dumb.” 
And truly did her soul sit thus. To the sick heart 
of the stricken widow came a sense of utter desolation 
as regarded earthly prospects ;—but by the all-sustain- 
ing power of grace alone was she upheld, and led to 
see at once that duty to her children, to her home, and 





TO GLORY. | 33 


to her covenant-keeping God called upon her for a 
cheerful submission ;—yea, more,—for a chastened 
resignation to the Heavenly Father’s will. My mother 
at that trying time wondrously manifested the power 
of faith, realizing that the everlasting arms were un- 
derneath her, the while she felt that though 


‘* She had hard, rugged steeps to travel over, 
Yet He, His faithful ones Who ever keeps 
Safe under cover, 
Shook down upon her, from their silver lining, 
The healing of His wings above her shining.” 


So sustained was she that she wondered at herself, 
and her friends wondered. Not that she did not 
far from that. The writer well 





grieve ;—no, indeed, 
remembers the children’s dread of the return of the 
first day of the week,—the agony, the tears, the sob- 
bing prayers,—when she would go in secret to pour 
out her grief in the ear of God alone, as she thought: 
but her children were not far off, and were often found 
by her in the next room, weeping bitterly; and she 
would dry her tears to comfort the young hearts that 
looked to her for joy. My mother has often said that 
it was a mercy she was at this time obliged to work ; 
that had she been left with a competence she must 


have been overwhelmed, and could not have breasted 


RU RN Ste at oy i 


34 THROUGH GRACE 


this great wave of sorrow. It was a comfort and a 
strength to her at this hour of her severest trial to have 
with her a dear brother, who had only a short time 
before become a member of her family. He took the 
vacant seat at the home board, which place he occu- 
pied until his recent death, a period of nearly forty 
years. 

Here again appears in living reality the power of 
grace divine, still guiding her over the dark ways and 
the doubtful windings of the untried path she was now 
entering, and in which she must learn to walk with 
the firm tread of one who really trusted in Him who 
had promised to be a husband to the widow and a 
father to the fatherless. Her faith seemed never to 
falter; and her public ministry, which had been trem- 
blingly begun and most timidly and_hesitatingly per- 


formed, now, chastened as she was by suffering and 


sanctified by affliction, was more earnestly entered 


upon and more faithfully maintained than ever before. 


But her sorrows had only begun, and seemed to in- 


crease as she took a survey of her worldly prospects. 
She was left with but seven dollars in the world, two 
children, and no home of her own,—the first act of 
her landlord, when he heard of her widowhood, being 
to increase the rent of the house in which she lived. 








TO GLORY. 35 


These things seemed all against her, and these were 
testing times to her soul. Yet with characteristic 
bravery linked to her practical ideas, together with 
her sanctified common-sense, she simply took God at 
His word, fully accepted His promises to the widow 
and the fatherless, and set herself in earnest to the 
_ task of earning for herself and her children an honest 
livelihood. In this effort she made them useful. She 
was far too wise and too faithful a mother to allow 
them to grow up in idleness while she toiled on alone ;— 
no, she taught them not only to work, but to love it, 
_ and led them to share with her the common burden. 
She possessed the marvellous power of glorifying 
the commonest service,—throwing a haio: o1- love; as 
it were, over all life’s duties; and work with mother, 
or work for-mother, was to them the utmost delight: 
it was their greatest joy, their deepest, truest happi- 
ness. And so, when friends wisely counselled my 
mother to try taking a few boarders, she did so; and 
for several years she had no assistance of any kind 
except such as her daughters could give. This was 
the beginning of her thirty years struggle in the cares 
and annoyances, the toils and the recompenses, of a 
large boarding-house, whose enclosure became to 


many a young man in after years a sanctuary almost 


36 THROUGH GRACE 


like the sacred walls of his own home; and in this 
home, with all her duties, she yet found time to act — 
the part and to perform some of the holy offices of the . 
mother to many a homesick heart. 

Among her early boarders was a young nephew, 
and from his lips the others caught the tender name; 
and her loved and honored title became that of ‘‘Aunt 
Harriet” to all who followed as members of her fam- 
ily. Even persons much older than herself would 
thus address her. In this home she conscientiously 
carried out her convictions as to what a true Christian 
home should be, especially to young men with un- 
formed principles, separated from their own pure 
homes, and surrounded by temptations so alluring 
as are to be found in a large city like Cincinnati. 
She allowed no foolish or otherwise hurtful book 
to lie upon her parlor table: no pernicious novel. 
was permitted a place. If such a book was ever left 
there, she took care that it should end its mission of 
mischief soon: it was not seen again by its owner or 
any one. She candidly informed her boarders that 
such stray volumes would receive summary discipline 
at her hands, and that inquiry for them would be use- | 
less. She often said, when being remonstrated with 


by some unfortunate owner of a stray book, ‘‘I am 











ZO GLORY. 37 


sorry, but I told thee the consequences if such book 
were found; and no young man under the protection 
of my roof, who spends his few leisure moments in my 
parlor, shall be in danger of having his mind or heart 
contaminated by poison found in small sweetened por- 
tions between the lids of any book he may pick up 
from my table.” No games of any kind were played 
frere.) tier family could do as they chose in their 
own rooms, but her parlor was sacred to the young 
men who had no other home; and it was a place 
where, almost every evening, all gathered to enjoy 


the social privileges of a real Christian home life. 


* * 
* * * 


AS, pausing o'er the lonely flower I bent, 
I thought of lives, thus lowly, clogged and pent, 
Which yet find room, 
Through care and cumber, coldness and decay, 
To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day, 
And make a sad world happier for their bloom.” 
Years of persevering effort, shadowed as they were 
by the sombre cloud, followed each other in quick 
succession. But this busy life was persistently filled in 
with benevolent efforts for others, and though unable 
to do great things to alleviate the woes of the poor, 
yet her bright, inspiring face was often seen in their 


humble homes, ministering not alone to their physical 





38 THROUGH GRACE 


wants, but by words of kindness and advice giving 
them spiritual cheer and hope, and the encouragement — 
which they so much needed, which was often better 
to the hearts she found so hungry than if she could 
have bestowed ‘‘silver and gold,” of which she 
had none. Her time for these visits was in her in- 
tervals of rest; and many an afternoon has she spent 
in walking long distances looking after the poor, the 
morning of which had been full of absolute hard labor 
for her family. Surely she did look well to the 
‘ways of her household,” and so practical was she 
that she always made it her first business to see that 
every home duty was faithfully performed. 

She did her own marketing for years, and was 
truly economical, though always providing liber- 
ally for her family; and the preparation of the food 
was so under her own eye that nothing was lost by 
imperfect cookery or bad management in the culinary 
department. This was a part of her religion. She 
was in the practice of saving from her table every 
nice bit of meat which would otherwise be thrown 
away ; and, with the codperation of her faithful and 
kind-hearted servant, Maria, she made soup—good, 
wholesome, nutritious soup—two days in the week, 
which was distributed to the poor, who had been vis- 








TO-.GLORY. 39 


ited, and invited to come for it prepared to take away, 
each one, a portion commensurate with the size of the 
family. This work, so small, and yet so great, she 
kept up for several years, and never wearied in it, 
though often meeting with unlooked-for and unac- 
countable causes of discouragement. Gradually her 
work enlarged through the interest of her many 
friends, so that she became the almoner for others in 
the work of relieving and cheering the poor. Her home 
was the store-house of good things for the children of 
want; and in her later years her good helpers in this 
work were her friends Frances and Morris M. White, 
who sent to her for years supplies of groceries of the 
nicest qualities, to be thus applied. And they, with 
her friends H. H. Smith, Elizabeth Warder, Char- 
lotte Davis, and others, also frequently gave her small 
sums of money for distribution, as she ‘‘ went about 
doing good.” ‘This charity, the kind donors felt, was 
always most faithfully and judiciously applied. She 
omitted nothing in her ministry that could add to the 
comfort and development of those whom she visited, 
teaching them how to keep house, training them in 
habits of personal neatness and cleanliness. She had 
an adroit way of finding out the littlest needs of those 


whom poverty had reduced to that ‘‘ I don’t care” con- 


40 THROUGH GRACE 


dition so often seen, and which my mother thought 
too often kept the charitable from doing anything 
more. Not so with her, whose motto was ‘‘ persever- 
ance in every good word and work.” Said a bright, 
hopeful looking woman to her one day,—‘‘ 1 would 
be clean, lady, if I could; but you see—I’ve no soap.” 
This told its own story. My mother repeated it to 
a listening ear and a responsive heart; and in the fut- 
ure, Mrs. Proctor attended to the ‘‘ soap department” 
in that store-house for the poor. ‘Thus more than one 
box of soap found its way, piece by piece, into the 
abodes of want and wretchedness, by which their 


homes and their bodies were made purer: and as a 


result, their lives were made better—‘‘ first pure, and 
then peaceable.” This form of systematic giving,— 
without ‘‘ red-tape,” and without respect of persons,— 
was continued for nearly a lifetime, and that, too, in 
the midst of daily toil, which to a less vigorous and 
persevering spirit would of itself have been exhaust- 
ive. Truly the wise man’s words were verified in her 
life: ‘* She stretcheth out her hand to the poor; yea, 
she reacheth forth her hands to the needy.” 

As has been said, her commonest duties were her 
highest pleasures. She permitted no thought of fail- 


ure to enter her mind. Her religious duties were par- 





TO GLORY. 4l 


PO ee 


amount to everything else, to every other service. Not 
only the first day, but the mid-week, meetings found 
her ever in her place among those of her own society 
with whom she sat in ‘‘heavenly places in Christ 
Jesus,” with whom she constantly mingled in the 
‘¢ unity of the spirit.” 
* * 
* * * 

My mother’s first experience in hiring help was after 
her daughters began to teach school, which they did 
at a very early age, from necessity. Here, again, is 
recalled the bright, inviting home, the helpful words 
of cheer, the ever-loving, never-wearying, self-sacrific- 
ing mother, encouraging and inspiring the increasing 
energies and growing ambitions of the young teach- 
ers, making it worth while to live in the ‘* every-day- 
ness of this work-day world.” ‘Who can find a vir- 
tuous woman, for her price is far above rubies? Her 
children arise up, and call her blessed.” 

Another Christian trait: My mother never kept a 
servant from attending his or her own chosen place 
of worship. She rather encouraged them to faithful- 
ness in their religious obligations; and the noon-day 
meal, on the first day of the week, was largely pre- 
pared and arranged for on the previous day. Her 
boarders really liked this plan for a quiet Sabbath, 


™ © ’ i oa! Ee ey 4 ~ - 
eo cry Yy > ey hia Pinte tats ee a 
Tp ee es : } - 
a. $ . 2 


42 THROUGH GRACE 


TD UUSUD UOUne MORES ME Oe Re RO BR OT TE Se 

















for they were mostly Christian people; but if not, e 
made no difference in her plan—in the faithful adher- E 
ence to that course of conduct which she felt to be 
duty. She advised all who applied for a home with 
her of the principles by which she was guided, and by 
which she governed the concerns of her household ; 
and then they were at perfect liberty not to enter her 
home, as they were free to leave it at any time should 
its rules and regulations become irksome. But they 
seldom left her from such considerations, or from 
choice for any cause. | 

Among those who in the course of years hada home 
with her were many of most precious memory, some 
of whom—yes, many—are now rejoicing with her on 
the ‘‘ green banks of deliverance,” and mingling their 
songs of praise to Him whose grace availed to ‘‘ pre- 
sent them faultless.” ‘Two dear friends, with whom 
she often ‘‘ took sweet counsel,” were greatly enjoyed 
by my mother. For seven years they were honored 
members of her household. The wife is now ‘‘ wid- 
owed indeed,” but not desolate, for two devoted sons 
live to make bright life’s pathway for her. In the ap- 
propriate language of another,—‘‘ No words can tell 
the tenderness of feeling with which we associated 


the two links,—one bright in the ineffable glory; the 


TO GLORY. A3 


other kept bright amid the tarnishing influences of 
time through Him ‘‘ Who is a crown of glory, anda 
diadem of beauty to the residue of His people.” An- 
other came ‘‘to try” the home for a while, and the 
result was, an honored. member of the household band 
for fourteen years. And for twenty consecutive years 
one family had its representatives under her protecting 
roof, and were a part of the circle which surrounded 
her fireside, and enjoyed ‘‘Aunt Harriet’s” home. 


‘¢ Her hearthstone was a broad and pleasant space, 
Where many mingled— 
Where none, for honor, and the highest place, 
Apart were singled ; 
This her example has bequeathed to others— 
‘The children of one Father, all are brothers.’ ” 


* * 
bd * * * 


** For love’s strength standeth in love’s service, 
And whoso suffers most has most to give.” 


A most suggestive and helpful illustration of the 
lines quoted is seen in the life of this dear mother. 
An almost constant sufferer herself, she was habitu- 
ally serving others, and felt it ‘‘ sweet to toil for other 
worlds than this.” What she did was for the suffer- 
ing Saviour’s sake, and because she loved to do good 
to all. The love of Christ was the constraining power 
which drew her thoughts and her efforts away from 


self. Her hands were literally never idle, in order 


| , * , 
‘= cee 
on is 
of ms 






2 DOA ROE a at : Bh) 
oem wh ~~! F her 3 s 
(25 Te > GPa 
» ¥ ‘. 
os a 
: a 

: os aed 
44 ~~ THROUGH GRACE a te 


that her family might be comfortable, so that her chil 
dren might not want for any good thing, so that they 
might be happy. The power of her life over others e 
- for good was wonderful : it cannot be estimated. That a 
earnest life, those busy hands—how they speak to the 
heart of the writer now !—and as my mother lived for 
others then, may the memory of her life, her words, 
her work, speak to the hearts who loved her while 
here; and may these ‘‘ sketches” be gloriously used 
to proclaim God’s grace to all who may desire to so 
work, SO speak, and so shine for Him. 

The following lines breathe such a-simple, touch- 
ing memory of what she was to those whom God had 
given her, and for whose happiness here and in eter- 
nity she ever held herself responsible under God, that 
it seems fitting they should be recorded: 


“Menutiful Hands. 


‘sSuch beautiful, beautiful hands! 
They were neither white nor small, 
And you, I know, would hardly think 
That they were fair at all. 
I’ve looked on hands whose form and hue 
A sculptor’s dream might be ; 
Yet are these aged, wrinkled hands 


Most beautiful to me. : 


TO GLORY. | AS 


‘¢ Such beautiful, beautiful hands ! 
Though heart were weary and sad, 
These patient hands kept toiling on, 
That the children might be glad. : 
I almost weep, as, looking back 
To childhood’s distant day, 
I think how these hands rested not, 


While mine were at their play ! 


‘¢ Such beautiful, beautiful hands! 

They ’re growing feeble now ; 

For time and pain have left their mark 
On hand, and heart, and brow. 

Alas! alas! the nearing time, 
And the sad, sad day to me, 

When ’neath the daisies, out of sight, 
Those hands shall folded be. 


** But oh! beyond this shadow damp, 
Where all is bright and fair, 
I know full well those dear old hands 
Shall palms of victory bear ;— 
Where crystal streams through endless years 
Flow over golden sands,— 
And where the old grow young again, 


I’]l clasp my mother’s hands.” © 


The Christian who reads these ‘‘ sketches,” imper- 
fect though they be, can doubtless trace the goodness 


46 - THROUGH GRACE 


and the grace of God in His wise and constant disci- 
pline in the development of the character under His 
moulding hand. Her will seemed gradually, yet 
surely, conforming to His own. In her self-scrutiny, 
she realized her imperfection and want of conform- 
ity to her divine pattern. Her life seemed to her so 
filled with mistakes and neglected opportunities, that 
she has often said it was only by the ‘‘ enablings” of 
the blessed Holy Spirit that she dared appropriate the 
comforting assurance of ‘‘no condemnation to them 
who are in Christ Jesus.” In all her intercourse with 
young Christians, she constantly, yet always cheer- 
fully, entreated them to enter every open door of use- 
fulness and service, and to become faithful workers, 
even should.their service be to only ‘* stand and wait.” 


* * 
* * * 


‘¢ Through waves, and clouds, and storms 
He gently clears thy way ;— 
Wait thou Histime: the darkest night 
Shall end in brightest day.” 
‘¢Ffe shall deliver thee in-six troublés=@yeaen 
seven there shall no evil touch thee.” 
As cloud after cloud hurries across the sky, casting 
their shadows upon all below, so across the varying 
landscape of her life succeeding clouds of sorrow cast 





TO GLORY. 47 


their dark ministrations, only to gild with brighter 
radiance of grace her pathway to glory, as God’s 
fatherly care and loving kindness shone upon it 
through the rifted darkness. Another cup of sorrow 
was to be pressed to lips which had already tasted the 


dregs of life’s bitterest woe. Rutherford says,— 
*¢ Soon shall the cup of glory wash down earth’s bitterest woe ;” 


and a greater than Rutherford has said,—‘‘ And God 
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there 
shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, 
neither shall there be any more pain.” Praise the 
Lord. About this time the health of her daughter 
Elizabeth suddenly failed, under the pressure of 
school duties; and a rapid decline brought this cher- 
ished one to an early grave. This bereavement deep- 
ened the shadow which rested, glory-tinted though it 
was, upon all the earthly pilgrimage of this devoted 
one. There was so much of mercy mingling with 
this bitter cup, that she refused not to be comforted. 
She rejoiced that God had answered her prayers, and 
in His enfolding tenderness had prepared her child 
for an entrance into the heavenly home. ‘Through 
sincere repentance, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, 
this redeemed spirit entered the pearl-gate city in the 


early morning of ist mo., 31st, 1843. Her death 


48 THROUGH GRACE 


was triumphant; and so joyous was she in the pros-— 
pect before her, that she could not understand why 
those about her should weep. With a happy smile 
she waved her hand, saying, ‘‘ My tears are all wiped 
away.” And thus, in the glorious realization of her 
beloved daughter’s assured bliss, my mother was in 
this ‘* seventh trouble” enabled to rise from out the 
depths of sorrow, and follow with glad, faith-lit eye 
her darling child to the bright mansions of eternal joy. | 
The natural wish to go and be with the dear ones 
‘¢ over there” was cheerfully, gratefully put aside for 
the ‘little while,” as she expréssediait, sane 
blessed summons should be given which would unite 
the broken household where redeemed spirits shall 
sing the new song of praise to Him who has washed 
them and made their robes ‘‘ white in the blood of the 
Lamb.” 

My mother was broad-minded and wide-hearted : 
she had an undoubting faith in all God’s promises. 
And from the time that the radiant crown of mother- 
hood was placed upon her brow, she wore it worthily. 
She ceased not to pray for the conversion of her chil- 
dren, for their eternal salvation. She has often said 
words like these: ‘‘I made no bargain with God; I 
had no will of my own in this matter. I simply asked 





TO GLORY. 49 


God for Christ’s sake to convert my children, to save 
their immortal souls.” When her earnest prayers 
were answered, one child was called into another 
religious society ; and the other, when converted, was 
taken away from earth to brighten the diadem of glory 
on the Saviour’s brow. She made no complaint. 
Her Christianity was broad enough, and her mind 
practical enough, to enable her to rejoice in the fact 
of the conversion of those dearer than life itself to 
her,—her own will not asserted, but entirely set aside. 
In answer to one who said, ‘* Thee must stop this 
movement; thee must not allow thy child to join an- 
other society,” she meekly but firmly answered,—‘‘ I 
cannot answer for her at the judgment seat of Christ ; 
therefore I would not dare to cast a straw to obstruct 
her onward course in the pathway she has chosen, as 
I believe, by the leading of the Holy Spirit. She is 
doubtless converted, and I can do no other than thank 
my Heavenly Father for answered prayer, and bid 
her God-speed on the heavenly journey.” How pass- 
ing wonderful is the grace divine which gave to this 
devoted servant of His such unquestioning, unfalter- 
ing faith in God’s way of answering her prayers. 
Truly the discipline of life, with its changes, its trials, 


and its provings, had not been lost upon her. 





THROUGH GRACE 


Et Te en eee Pee OO Ee DOs On Tee Ee! {imiit 2 


50 


‘‘ Blind unbelief is sure to err, 
And scan His works in vain ;— 
God is His own interpreter, 
And He will make it plain.” — 


* * 
* * ) 


My mother was a great reader, even in the midst of 


the busy activities. of life, so filled with absorbing 
cares. Her mind seemed permeated with heaven and 
heavenly thoughts. She always found time to read 
not only the devotional reading for the day, but the 
current events of the times were not overlooked; 
especially did she read of the benevolent and religious 
movements of the world. And there was not a mis- 
sionary station anywhere from Mexico to the Congo 
in Africa but that she knew its location, its workers, 
and its needs; and her prayers accordingly went out 
for those missions, those workers, and those needs. 
Her multiplied physical infirmities often confined her 
for months together to her home; but pain of body, 
nor the environment of brick walls, had power to hold, 
imprisoned, the heart and soul vitalized by the Spirit 
of God, and keenly alive to the immortal interests of 
every living person, it might almost seem, whether 
she had ever seen them or not. As she read the sta- 
tistics of the world’s needs—of the world’s teeming 





TO GLORY. 51 


millions—her earnest, tearful prayers reached out until 
it would seem that all nations, all homes, all hearts, 
with their various wants, were touched; and by the 
pleading tones of her far-reaching prayer, her voice 
doubtless entered the listening ear of Him who would 
send gracious answers. Whether she should ever 
know the results or not was of little consequence to 
her individually: she could trust God, and she did. 
She practically reiterated Paul’s exhortation to Timo- 
thy, that ‘‘supplications, prayers, intercessions, and 
giving of thanks be made for all men.” Her prayers 
were sometimes wonders of divine power, and all- 
embracing in their scope. She seemed truly to ‘lift 
up holy hands” as she approached God to pour out her 
prayers for ‘‘ all men everywhere.” Memory recalls 
many instances of such prayer: here is one. It was 
after the usual evening reading from the Holy Scrip- 
tures, and an unusually deep and lengthened silence. 
She bowed her head upon her hands, and poured forth 
a touching prayer, including all the world; then, with 
tears and broken utterances, she besought the Lord 
to ‘‘extend His arm of power now, at once, to some 
soul in an extremity of need, who had no power to 
help itself, nor knowledge of the only Source of help, 


entreating that the Gracious One would now, at this 


ate Se Py ae ae ba ht uf 
AL es I ra: ay alone 





52 THROUGH GRACE ps ae 


critical moment of extremity, make it His opportunity | 
to effectually direct the despairing cry of that soul to 

Himself, as the only hope of the perishing, and thus” 
procure the deliverance which was so much needed.” 

It was a wonderful prayer, and quite impossible to be 

justly delineated at this distant day. Being asked ~ 
afterwards to whom she referred in her prayer, her 
answer was significant,—*‘ I do not know; God does, 
and He will answer in His own time and way.” She 
had prayed as the Spirit had given utterance, and was 


content to wait for eternity to know the results. 


* * * 


From the very first movement of philanthropists to 
ameliorate the condition of the Indians, she was deep- 
ly interested in their welfare. It was this reality of 
interest which induced her, through much personal 
sacrifice, to accept from her society an appointment 
to visit the several tribes then under the loving watch- 
care of Friends. Accordingly she, accompanied by 
Mary Ann Donaldson, a lovely Christian friend, with 
other members of the committee, set off on what 
seemed at that time to be a somewhat dangerous and ~ 
tedious journey to Missouri. It was fraught with both 
peril and pleasure, and to mother was full of interest- 


ing and impressive incident. She was absent from 





TO GLORY. 53 


See 


home four or five weeks. The writer greatly regrets 
that only the merest mention of this remarkable visit 
can be made, as all the letters describing the thrilling 
incidents of the journey and visit were accidentally 
destroyed; and no record remains from which to 
glean items which would doubtless fill our souls with 
zeal. From that time she was renewedly and enthu- 
siastically awake to all the. interests of mission work 
among the Indians, which never left her, and changed 
not, except to increase in ardor, as long as she lived. 
She was for many years a member of the ‘‘Committee 
of the Society of Friends on Indian Affairs.” This 
associated her with some of the choicest spirits of 
her beloved society, with noble men and consecrated 
women, whose zeal and devotion to the cause added 
an inspiring interest and efficiency to her efforts. She 
had a true missionary spirit, whether in the home or 
the foreign field. At one time the writer said to her, 
half playfully, ‘‘ Mother, if it had not been for thee, I 
think I should now be in India, laboring for the heathen 
there.” With bright love-lt face, she quickly, and 
with equal playfulness, responded, ‘‘ Well, I am sure, 
had it not been for thee, daughter, I should long ago 


add- 





have been with our North American Indians,” 


ing, ‘‘ but our Heavenly Father knew best, and we 





54 THROOGIAGRACE 


are doubtless in our right place, and we will labor 
here. “The tield us theawondrs | | | 
Her mental vigor and vivacity were remarkable 
when her feebleness and her ‘ oft infirmities” were 
taken into account. She very seldom missed a meet- 
ing of any kind, and her faithfulness in attending her 
own particular meetings has been already mentioned. 
She was not less faithful in her attendance upon the 
annual gatherings. During the years of her girlhood, 
and those of her early married life, her membership 
was in Ohio Yearly Meeting, but her removal to Cin- 
cinnati necessitated a change; and she accordingly 
became a member of Indiana, the sittings of which are 
held in the autumn. She continued her membership 
here during the remainder of her life. For nearly, or 
quite, fifty years—half a century of faithful service !— 
she was not absent from the annual gatherings at _ 
Richmond, Indiana, more than three or four times, 
and when in attendance was the welcome guest under 
the hospitable roof of Elijah and Naomi Coffin. And 
when these kind friends were called up higher, she 
became a member of the family of their son, Charles 
I. Coffin, where she was cordially welcomed and loy- 
ingly cared for from year to year as long as she lived. 
For years she occupied a seat near the clerk’s table, 





TO GLORY, a5 


in the various sittings of the Yearly Meeting, encour- 
aging and aiding them—as she knew so well how to 
do—by all the means in her power; and thus was her 
clear voice often heard from the clerk’s table to the 
remotest parts of that large audience-room. And 
she was no inattentive listener, but took an interest 
in every item of business, and in every individual 


present. 
‘* The music of that voice 


Is no wise hushed, but blended so with songs 
Around the throne of God, 
That our poor ears no longer hear it.”’ 


* * 
* * * 


Besides attending her own for so many consecutive 
years, she was privileged to meet with many sister 
Yearly Meetings. Often too feeble to travel alone, it 
has many times been not only the writer’s duty, but 
her peculiar pleasure, to accompany this precious 
mother in these visits of Christian love. On all such 
occasions the most cordial welcome was extended to 
mother and daughter alike, unworthy as the latter ever 
felt herself to be. These visits were always attended 
with profit, and a sense of refreshing growth in every 
** good word and work” was the result. The Yearly 
Meetings of New England, New York, Baltimore, 
Philadelphia, North Carolina, Canada, Western, and 


56 | THROUGH GRACE. er 


Iowa, have all thus been visited, and some of them 
repeatedly. To attend the Ohio Yearly Meeting was 
like a home-going to mother, and she creatly delight- 
ed in mingling again and again with the friends who 
had been so dear to her in the earlier years of her 
Christian life; and though she made her pilgrimages 
there until ‘instead of the fathers were the children,” 
yet such was the sacredness of the tie that bound her 
to them that she always received great blessing and 
spiritual strength in their gatherings. The dear 
mother seemed never to weary in meeting and min- 
gling with Friends everywhere, of whom she claimed 
many in every Yearly Meeting. In all these seasons 
of spiritual renewal and heavenly joy, her heart went 
out to the young, and her first efforts were extended 
towards them,—to guide and help, if she might, those 
who were taking their first steps in the pathway to 
heaven. Many a young minister has been cheered 
and encouraged by helpful, guiding words of counsel 
from her lps. She did not always know when her 
words were to be used as sweetly inspiring messages 
from God to His hesitating, timid, young embassadors 
for Christ; but such they proved to be many times— = 
all through the influence of that grace which made 
her what she was to others. | 





TO GLORY. 57 


ee ee ee SE ES 


* * * 
‘*No anxious thought upon thy brow 
The watching world should see; 
No carefulness! O child of God, 
For nothing careful be! 
But cast thou all thy care on Him 
Who always cares for thee ” 

She seemed emphatically to have adopted this as 
her motto. She was never gloomy; she took the evil 
and the good in her life, as alike from God’s hand. 
No care, no anxiety, no disappointment had power to 
drag her spirit down from the serene heights to which 
her triumphant faith had carried her; and thither she 
strove to lift all who came within the sphere of her 
influence. She gloried in the ‘‘ cross of Christ,” and 
her desire to ‘‘ lift Him up” so that He should ‘‘ draw 
all men” to Himself knew no abatement, as years 
were added to her precious life, and, with them, in- 
creasing infirmities. She was often unable to ‘ go 
about doing good,” as had been her wont, and then 
she prayed that in some way Christian work might be 
brought to her; and as she prayed, so she believed, 
and was ever on the alert for some good service for 
others—‘‘ something for the salvation of souls’—some- 
thing to cheer and uplift the sorrowful and the down- 


trodden—‘‘ something for Jesus.” And so it came to 





58 _ THROUGH GRACE 


PO ee ee Oe ey 


pass that all who were even incidentally brought with- 


“! 


in her atmosphere were drawn as by insensible silken ~ 


cords of love nearer to the humanity of Christ, nearer 
to the Fatherhood of God. She was remarkably 
happy in her manner of approaching any one on the 
subject nearest her heart, never giving offence. Her 
speech was seasoned with grace ;—she never assailed 
the creed of any—never antagonized their belief, or 


unbelief; but ‘‘ wise” as ‘‘ harmless,” she never went 


_ before, but obediently followed the ‘still small voice” 


of the Holy Spirit, which gently whispered to her not 
only what to say, but when and where to speak the 
‘word in season.” She was wonderfully guided to 


serve in every place and in every heart where the 
Sark ww : 


Holy Spirit would Himself come. Whether the per-_ 


son with whom she was brought face to face were rich 
or poor, learned or ignorant, old or young, she was 
fearlessly, genially, and almost always successfully, 
faithful. The light which shone into her own soul 
was caught as she stood near the cross at Calvary, and 
she just ‘‘let” it shine upon other hearts, until they 
too were lovingly drawn near enough to catch its life- 
giving rays, and thus become subjects of the grace 
that leads to glory. It was during the winter and 


spring of 1880 and 1881 that my mother was suffering 





TO “GLORY. 59 


greatly, and confined most of the time to the house. 
She became deeply interested in the conversion of 
several young people whom circumstances had drawn 
to her own home; and taking this as answer to prayer, 
she had frequent conversations with them, and spent 
much time in prayer for them, and sometimes prayed 
with them. Her words were greatly blessed of the 
Spirit, and she had the joy of knowing that six souls 
had been led to Christ, and hopefully saved through 
faith in Him. ‘They united with different churches, 
but the knowledge that they were really saved was 
enough for her to. know; and this season of service 
and work done for the Master within her own doors 
was one of refreshing to her earnest soul. She was 
often heard in prayer and thanksgiving to bless the 
Lord for His gracious and condescending mercy in 
thus leading inquiring souls to her, and giving her the 
privilege of ministering to them in the Word. She 
was wholly dedicated in her life, and never lost an 
opportunity of speaking a word for her blessed Sav- 
iour. An incident comes to the memory now, which 
gives added light to this side of her Christian charac- 
ter,—this determination to do good to all as opportu- 
nity offered. The writer was engaged in dressing the 


painful ankle, from which her mother suffered so in- 





60 | THROUGH GRACE ; A 


tensely and so constantly, when the door-bell rang. 

Almost impatiently I ran down stairs, and summa- 
rily dismissed a beggar, and returned to the work in 
hand. With a look never to be forgotten, all thought 
of her own physical suffering gone from her face, and 
in its place the utmost tenderness, a winning, wistful 
love-light beaming in her eye, my mother asked, 
‘¢Who was it? Thee closed the door so quickly—too 
quickly, my dear. It was a man’s voice: was he a 
beggar?” On being answered, she continued, in a 
voice of melting tenderness, all tremulous with tears, 
and which is echoing in my soul as I write with so 
feeble a pen,—‘*‘ Oh! was he a Christian, I wonder r” 
and then added, with a touch of compassion in her 
voice,—‘* Daughter, never do so again, never! Re- 
member, my child, that whoever comes to our door 
to ask for anything is either a child of God—perhaps 
discouraged, and needing a kind word of cheer; or 
he is not a child of God, and then surely needs to 
have the way pointed out to him in tender earnest- 
ness.” And so thrillingly was every fibre of her be- 
ing touched, that tears stood in her sweet, bright 
eyes,—the while I bowed at her dear feet, and, I trust, 
learned the lesson which her life and lips were ever 
teaching. 





TO GLORY. 61 


CE Se EE SO MO SO ee ee ne 


In the summer of 1856, being absent for several 
weeks in company with dear friends, my mother 
found time to write quite frequently. Some of these 
letters will give a deeper insight to both the daily life 
and the marked characteristics of the dear one whose 
history is thus unfolded. She writes,— 


CINCINNATI, 7th mo., 17, 1856. 

My Dear Saran :—Thy most welcome letter was hand- 
ed me to-day as soon as I returned from monthly meeting. 
Henry remained until after 2 o’clock, in order to see what 
news it contained. There was nothing for him, but in the 
evening he received Orrin’s letter, with enclosures from 
Samuel and thee, but none for me. Uncle George has been 
very attentive about thy letters, and very thoughtful for me, 
though he pretends to laugh at me for feeling so anxious 
about thee. 

I had quite a struggle this morning to decide about going 
to monthly meeting. As all the ‘‘ queries”’ were to be read 
and answered, I knew, if I went, I could not get home to 
dinner; and with two new families in the house, and Dr. 
Mussey and wife to leave about 1 o’clock, and must have 
their dinner at 12 M., thou may be sure I felt it a good deal 
of an exercise to decide where my duty lay. But Maria and. 
Bridget both encouraged me to go, and they would do faith- 
fully all that I should plan; and when I mentioned it at the 
breakfast hour, they all with one voice urged me to attend 
the meeting: so I felt released, and went. Had an excellent 
meeting. Daniel Williams was there, and preached a good 


7 Al 
ae ee ee ie a ee eo ee eS ae ‘ 


62am THROUGH GRACE | ce 


CE Te ee Re 


sermon. Cousin Susan came home with me, as men’s 
meeting was not closed. She read thy letter with me, and 
was truly glad to hear from thee, and sends love. She ate 
dinner with me, but I did not feel nearly so hungry as thank- 
ful: that, thou knows, is always a full and rich feast to me. © 
Faithful Biddy had worked with all her energy after the 
Doctor and wife left, and had our room in perfect order. 
It is truly delightful to get into it again, though I esteemed 
it an equal favor to have given them the occupancy of it, 
both as a matter of pecuniary interest and the treasure I feel 
it to have their acquaintance and friendship. They both 
expressed the greatest satisfaction in having been with us. 
The doctor gave mea book and an engraving of himself, 
which I highly value ; and his wife left a nice book, with her 
love, for thee—‘* Morning and Evening Devotion.” 

After Cousin Susan and Henry left me, I came back into 
my room, and thought I would lie down a while and rest ; 
but the box with the writing materials on the little stand 
looked so convenient and inviting, I concluded to write a 
while before I lay down, and then finish afterwards ;—so 
now I will stop a while, but not until I express my great sat- 
isfaction and pleasure at knowing where thou art just now— 
at New Bedford—with Mary and our other friends, for you 
will be gone from there before I get up again. It is now 
nearly 4 o’clock, and I can fancy the leave-taking. Meet- 
ings and partings, joys and sorrows, smiles and tears, mark 
all our pathway through life’s checkered scene. I was much 
obliged to dear Mary for writing a line to me. Love to her 
when thou writes. (Exit.) 7 

Six and a half o’clock finds me here at the stand at my 
writing again, but not much refreshed, the weather is so 
warm. 








TO GLORY. 63 


CO ON Ot en A eM en 


Mary Baker called yesterday, just before tea, to inquire for 
the travellers, but Henry had not returned with the latest 
news; but he told her in the evening at prayer-meeting. I 
am very glad the package of letters met thee at Boston. [I 
have since mailed a letter to New York, and think I shall 
send this one there, as you will likely remain over first day 

I feel almost ready to persuade thee to return with 
the party instead of stopping at Mt. Pleasant, as it is hardly 
likely that Uncle David and Aunt Rebecca Updegraff will 
be at home; and their absence would be quite a drawback 
to the pleasure and the profit of thy visit. I must now close 
_ this long letter, as supper is ready. 

Committing thee, with my own soul, to the care of the 
unslumbering Shepherd, I remain ever and always, 

Thy loving MoTHER. 


Another letter —so natural, showing very clearly 
the two-fold life she lived, heart full to overflowing 
with the grace of God who so richly supplied all her 
needs, and also the busy, active hands full of the 
common incidents of this ‘* work-day” world—brings 
to light again the practical side of her truly remark- 
able life. The letter bears date,— 


CINCINNATI, 7, 19, 1858. 
My Dear Saran :—Peace as a panoply covers my mind, 
and my heart inly exclaims, ‘‘ What shall I render unto the 
Lord for all His benefits? I will take the cup of salvation, 
and call upon the name of the Lord.” Call upon His name 
‘who is mighty in power, excellent in wisdom, doing won- 


64. THROUGH GRA CE 


iat Vim (emit BUM mm Sm 


ders.”” Oh! yes, what a wonder is the cine of poor, lost, 
sinful man! and still how many hear the joyful sound with- 
out waking up to its vast importance ;—having ears, they 
hear not. ‘*O that men would praise the Lord for His 
goodness, and for His wonderful works to the children of 
men.” He alone can ‘ satisfy ” the longing soul, and ‘fill 
the hungry soul with goodness.” ‘+ How excellent art. 
Thou, O Lord! how unsearchable are Thy judgments, and 
Thy ways past finding out.” | 


3d day, afternoon. 


As I have looked over the page of yesterday, I have said 
to myself, Shall I send it? ‘To-day has been so different, 
fraught indeed with mercy and untold occasions for thanks- 
giving; but oh! such a busy hither-and-thither time! It 
is ironing day ; but we did not iron, thinking we had better 
can blackberries. Maria went to market before breakfast 
to get them. Then the man could not come to solder until 
after dinner; so I picked and sugared them, ready for cook- — 
ing. At&% o’clock. Burnett’s house took fire in the rear ; 
and that, thou knows, is just opposite our back yard. ‘The 
blaze was high and hot before the engines commenced 
throwing water. In the meantime I sent for Uncle George. 
Uncle William ran over to keep me from letting the gather- 
ing crowd take our goods out of the house. I told him I 
was fully posted on that score from former experience. M. 
ran with water to the roof, and threw on several bucketfuls. 
When the engines did begin they made quick work of it ; and 
I really felt gratified at having the opportunity of witness- 
ing the almost inconceivable dispatch with which the flames 
were extinguished. I felt distressed for Burnett, as the 
smell of burning sugar and butter was wafted through our 





TO GLORY. 65 


CO 


premises. We were almost stifled with smoke for a while, 
although our first precaution was to close windows and 
shutters all over the house. A distressing account was soon 
spread through the street, with the burning matter, that his 
wife was ill, and had to be carried out of the burning build- 
ing, and that one of the children was killed by falling tim- 
bers. It did seem dreadful, and I was agonized at the 
thought; but our ever alert Maria soon made her way 
through the burning timbers and rubbish, until she reached 
head-quarters, and inquired into their true condition. Bur- 
nett said his wife was away. from home on a visit, and was 
. in happy ignorance of the calamity, and a child had only 
had his ankle sprained—just nothing at all—and he was try- 
ing to be thankful that things were no worse. He and some 
of the boys were already busy clearing away things, and 
making preparations to-resume their labors. This brings 
us up to 10 o’clock, Maria to preparing for dinner, and 
Biddy to finishing her work, with a face as white as a sheet 
of paper. I would like to tell thee of poor old John’s ex- 
ploits, but have not time for much. He went all the way 
for Brother George without his hat, and George said looked 
in perfect terror. Things now seemed quiet, and I lay 
down to rest till 12 o’clock; but Thomas came and called 
me, saying he had a letter for me. I thought to be sure it 
was from Hannah, but he said not; it came in his letter 
from H. It was dated at ‘*‘ Horseneck,” where you all were. 
It was a real comfort to me, and when Uncle G. came in to 
dinner, he brought me dear Mary’s. Do tell her I am 
greatly obliged, and have really and truly participated in 
your joy. She says she wants thee to make thy visit to H. 
Ladd this week, so as to go to Saratoga with them. Thou 
will of course know which will be best. I suppose the 





66 THROUGH GRACE 


Heme COUTTS Bt Ree St eR eR 


great matter is, for you two to be together as long as you 
can. Sara Mayo thinks she can hardly bear not to see thee, 
and hopes you may be with Hannah at the same time. T._ 
is much obliged for thy note. He read it to me, and said 
H. seemed delighted to see and be with thee. I am some 
tired now, dear 8., and think I must lie down and rest be- 
fore tea. I have been hindered from writing all I intended 

This is our Bible-class evening, so I must close © 
before I rest, and ’tis nearly 6 o’clock now. This letter is 
very long, and very unsatisfactory ; but I cannot help it— 
the day has been so full of excitement, and anxiety, and 
care ;—but my mind has been kept in peace, trusting in the 
Lord. I think it is very good in thee to write so often. 
Please don’t grow ‘‘ weary in well-doing.” Love to all the 
dear ones, and 

Believe me, as ever, 

Thy loving MoTuHER. 
* “ 
% x * 
‘¢ Backward, turn backward, O Time, in thy flight; 
Make me a child again—just for to-night.” 


_ Greatly to my mother’s delight, the time came, in 
the early years of her widowhood, when she received 
into her own home her mother, who spent five years 
with her. It was a season of delightful intercourse, 
thus renewing and refreshing the fond memories of 
their past. It was a choice privilege to my mother to | 
bask once more in the light and warmth of a fond 
mother’s love. It seemed more fitting, however, that 


TO GLORY. 7-307 


grandmother should spend the remaining years of her 
life on earth with her younger daughter, Rebecca 
Hayes. She accordingly returned to her former 
home, near West Chester, Pa., and again became a 
welcome member of that loving family. She lived to 
a very old age; and four or five years before she 
passed away from earth, she was entirely blind. As 
the advancing years were adding their burden of in- 
firmities to my grandmother’s life, and the ‘‘ outward 
man” seemed ‘‘perishing,” the ‘inner man was 
renewed day by day.” During the passing years my 
mother was graciously permitted to make frequent 
pilgrimages to this eastern home, to help cheer and 
comfort the declining years of her mother, and to en- 
joy, over and over again, the sweet companionship of 
her sister, of whom she was very fond. These were 
cheerful, happy visits. Mother always returned from 
them much impressed with and gladdened by the 
conviction of the growing graces of the dear aged 
one, and feeling the uncertainty of their ever again 
meeting on earth; still she rejoiced in the assurance 
she felt that her mother was ripening for the skies. | 
The following beautiful lines were selected by my 
mother, and often’ repeated by her as appropriate to 


the advancing age and spiritual growth of her honored 


68 THROUGH GRACE 


PO Me PO 





: e: i ee 
mother, who was now so near her journey’s end, and _ 
who, though blind and almost helpless, never allowed as 
a murmur to escape her lips. a or 


“Old Age. 


‘¢ The golden erain,—how beautiful ! 
Waiting the Reaper’s hand; 
Bowed it may be, yet is it not 
The glory of the land? 


‘¢ Just so the aged Christians wait, 
With locks all silvery white, 
Shining as if a ray from heaven 
Had touched their brows with light. 


‘¢T love the gently beaming eye,— 
The smile so full of love,— 
As if it heavenly converse held 


With holy ones above. 


‘¢ Old age, I love thee! Thou hast been 
A loving friend to me: 
Dear are thy trembling tones, and sweet 


Thy kindly sympathy. 


‘*T love to press thy trembling hand, 
And hold it in my own, 
And think perhaps a prayer went up 


For me before the throne. 


TOTGLORY. 69 


OT SL MEE Mtoe MOE POE MOE OD MD PO ME ED 


** Yes, age looks beautiful when lit 
With beams of grace divine ; 
And oft from out its frail disguise 


An angel seems to shine. 


*¢ Thus did my own sweet mother wait, 
Ere yet she took her flight,— 
An angel trembling on the brink 


Of life, and love, and light. 


‘¢ Tf, beautiful in holiness, 
Thou shinest even here, 
How wilt thou, in the light of heaven, 


All glorious appear!” 


In the year 1858 my dear mother felt a great desire 
to revisit the home of her sister, and thus also see 
and be with her aged mother. Though it seemed 
difficult for her to be released from home cares, yet, 
as she said, ‘‘ way opened” marvellously for her to 
make occasional visits. Travelling and change of 
climate, and freedom from routine, always did her 
good and improved her health; and she was always 
encouraged to go from home. She had many dear 
relatives and friends in and near Philadelphia, whom 
she delighted to see, and who desired her to visit 
them; but most of the time of these visits was spent 
at ‘*’The Maples’—the lovely country home of her 


7O THROUGH GRACE 


CTE Sn Sn MO MO 


brother and sister, Isaac and Rebecca Hayes. _ She 
left home in the spring of the year, and before the 
weather was yet too warm for comfort. The following 
letters will express in her own words what she enjoyed 
with the dear ones with whom she was sojourning : 


‘¢THE Maptes,” 4th mo., 20, 1858. 

My Dear Sarau:—Thy anxieties with regard to my 
safety were doubtless relieved by the telegram sent the morn- 
ing I arrived; and the hasty notes which followed in a few 
days I hope answered the purpose for which they were de- 
signed. My thoughts are so much with thee, this morning, 
that, as thy uncle and aunt have gone into West Chester, 
the girls busy ironing preparatory to going to Yearly Meet- 
ing, and dear grandmother asleep, I have concluded to lay 
aside my knitting, and try to write a little more deliber- 
ately and connectedly than I have done heretofore. ‘This is 
the third letter to thee since I came. Cousins Joseph and 
Martha are anxious I should go to the city for a visit of a 
week with them, but as my stay here this time must be 
short, I very naturally desire to spend most of it with 
mother. It has rained nearly every day since I came, but 
this morning is beautiful and bright, the birds singing in 
the leafless trees. I was entirely disappointed to find the 
large maples have not the least appearance of putting out 
their buds even. As to the forests, they look as dreary as 
winter; but the early flowers are out, and the willow trees 
and grass are looking beautifully green since the rain has 
ceased. Many dear friends have called to invite me to visit 
them, but I have declined all, telling them I should not leave 
mother except to attend meetings. 





. 
} 
j 





TO GLORY. 71 


TUE Oe Ce SE Se ee A 


Uncle and aunt and the girls will go to Yearly Meeting, 
while I will stay with grandmother; and when they return, 
I think my visit will be about over, if mother continues as 
well as she seems now. 

All send love, are as glad to see thy letters come as I am, 
and glad also to know that thou can still write letters some- 


times. 
Thy loving MOorTHER. 


During the same visit she writes as follows: 


Pel He APLES, 5th imo. 3) Lo50. 
My Dearest §8.:—Thy long letter, mailed on second 
day morning, was brought to me when sister returned 
from Monthly Meeting. The weather was a good deal 
blustery, and I concluded to stay at home. I have had a 
delightful time with mother this morning; indeed, it has 
been delightful all the time, and I feel amply repaid for the 
cost of coming and for the silent anxiety endured before I 
decided to set off from home. Though it would be very 
pleasant to meet many dear friends, whom I shall not see, 
yet the one great object, and only object that could have in- 
duced me to leave my home (which suits me better than any 
other place in my circumstances), I have been mercifully 
permitted to accomplish; and I feel entirely prepared to 
return home at the time proposed. 
With love from all to Uncle George and thyself, 
I am as ever, 
Thy loving MorTHER. 


«¢ THE Mapes,’ 5th mo., 10, 1858. 
My Dear Saran :—Another happy morning spent with 
thy grandmother has made me feel very grateful to my 


ee ie ae Oe Oa eae: Se: en geese. Nee A ec gee 


]2 Geen es GRACE 


TO OE ee 


Heavenly Father for granting me this privilege; and I be- 
lieve He will bless thee in making the sacrifice thou dost in 
giving me up. Mother and I have been alone most of the 
morning, and she has asked me about almost every one she 
ever knew. She thoroughly enjoys my being here, but 
she asks the same questions, and tells the same things, over 
and over again. O how changed she looks! and when she 
sleeps, as she often does in her chair, she looks very much 
as if she were not living—so pale and thin; but when she 
wakes, she is bright and cheerful, and says,—‘‘ I believe I 
have been asleep.” When I ask her how she feels, she 
always says,—‘‘ I am just as well as I ever was in my life, 
not an ache nor a Puorrs so dizzy and blind, that Iam a 
poor helpless creature.’ 

My prospect now is to leave here on 4th fie morning | 
next at 6 o’clock. Thy uncle and aunt will go with me to 
Philadelphia, and I take the r Pp. M. train for the westward 
journey. Should there be any change in the day, I will 
send a telegram ; and if I stop at Quarterly Meeting, I will 
write from there on 6th day morning. I feel all ready to go 
to thee, my dear child ;—only it is pleasant to spend a few 
more quiet days with grandmother, on whose dear face I 
can never look again, most likely 

I-was glad to receive thy letter, my dear S., but sorry to 
know thou wast not well. Be careful of thy healthe ; do not 
use too much exertion, for I know thou cannot endure it. I 
should feel really sorry to. find everything in the nicest order 
at home, if it must be at the expense of thy health. Do 
take care of the casket that holds my greatest earthly 
jewel. 

As ever, 
Thy loving | Moruer. 





TO" GLORY, 73 


UT ee SO 


Her plans were carried out. She left the dear blind 
mother in usual health, and both felt the happier 
for having been together. The farewell was spoken 
without tears. My mother reminded those she was 
leaving that Christians need hardly say the parting 
word—so soon to meet again. It was a favorite 
thought of hers, that expressed by the poet,— 

‘« The farewells always lie behind us, 
But the greetings always lie before.” 

Thus she left them, joyously looking onward to a 
time of meeting which should know no separation. 
She visited friends on the homeward way, stopping, as 
she expected, to attend her Quarterly Meeting, after 
which she came home. She always brought joy with 
her whenever or wherever she came. She was, on 
this occasion, as she expressed it, more than usually 
rejoiced to be at her post of duty again. Greatly 
improved by her visit, and not tired from the journey 
—for she never wearied with travel—she was soon 
in the harness again, and gladly assuming the duties 
which, to her practical mind, never became irksome. 
Her earthly cares seemed to be transformed into heav- 
enly benedictions, and every duty, under her magic 
touch, seemed to know ‘‘the noiseless sliding” of 


each into its accustomed place. 


EE RS Py oe) ea ee oe nN, ee ae a we 


bear et THROUGH GRACE 


Lum@iuim@iiee UE RU 


* * 
* * * 


‘¢ Our life moves on; 
There is no pause in its perpetual tread.” 

In 1860, mother was again called eastward to the 
Chester county home, urged by letters and a touching 
message from the aged and blind mother: ‘‘I do 
want my daughter Harriet from Cincinnati to come 
and stay with me until I am released from earth, and 
my feet set free from the swellings of Jordan, and 
resting securely on the green banks of deliverance.” 
It had been an ardent wish of my mother’s to be pres- 


_ ent with this dear one at the close of her life’s long 


pilgrimage, if it could be a possible thing; and now 
the call came. Her decision was made, and she left 
her home and her daily cares once more. The time 
was 2d mo., roth, and the weather cold; yet she un- 
dauntedly started off alone to make her journey. She 
reached Downingtown in safety, and was met as 
usual by Uncle Isaac and Aunt Rebecca. She found 
the dear aged invalid much changed, but with no 
special disease—only old age gradually leading her 
down to the grave. She was quite childish, and for- 
getful of passing events. It was very satisfactory to 
my mother to be with her; and she was able many. 
times to soothe and comfort the restless wanderings, 





TO GLORY. 75 


A 


mind. Grandmother was very deaf, and it was im- 
possible for any but my mother’s voice to reach her, 
so that she could enjoy being read and talked to; but 
she could hear distinctly all that mother would say. 
A few letters, written during this visit of my mother’s, 
will give detailed account of passing days and weeks 
in that sick-room, where the Angel of Death hovered 
so long, waiting to carry the ransomed spirit to the 
bosom of God—that ‘‘ home of the soul :” 


9 


“/DuHE MAPLES,” 2nd mo., 18, ’60. 


My Dearest SarAn:—TI hope thou received my dis- 
patch 2d day morning. The letter mailed the same day 
would explain why thou could not hear on 7th day as I 
promised. The delay was a great disappointment to me, 
for I knew so well that thou wast living on that hope, and 
must be disappointed; but we must learn, my dear, the 
lesson of trust, and wait patiently, and not be afraid. I do 
think a great deal about you all at home, butam continually 
thankful that I came when I did. Dear grandmother has 
never forgotten that I am here since the first morning after I 
arrived. When I went into her room and spoke to her, she 
said,—‘* Why, who is this?”” When I told her, she said,— 
When did thee come? They did not tell me thee was here.” 
pores, 9. said, ** I was in here in the evening.’”’ But she 
could not be persuaded that she knew it; thought she ‘* must 
have been asleep” when they told her. She sometimes for- 
gets my name, and calls out to know if her ‘‘ dear friend 


pre . 7S Se Sf SNe ee Pee oe Care ee ee 
vere. ei ¥ Pd ‘ 5 


70 THROUGH GRACE 


TT 


Je} 


is inthe room. It seems the greatest com- 
fort to her to have me with her, and many times a day begs 
me not to leave her again until she is laid in the grave, and 
closes with,—‘‘and then thee can go home with such sweet 
comfort.” 


from Cincinnati 


Her mind, so weakened in regard to earthly things, is 
always bright and clear on heavenly themes, and she is truly 
a preacher of righteousness. The whole plan of salvation is - 
most wonderfully declared to all who are in the house, for 
whenever she speaks, she raises her voice so that she can be 
heard in the sitting-room, dining-room, and parlor, and every 
one can hear her words. The mercy and goodness of her 
Heavenly Father is her wonted theme,—in providing every 
comfort—all her wants supplied in rich abundance,—*‘ and 
I so unworthy of the least of His mercies.” 

She suffers at times with very distressing turns with her 
heart and flow of blood to the brain. and then her agony is 
very great; says her mind is just like a whirlwind, and it 
seems to her that the enemy is to have the victory over her 
at last. The first spell she had after I came, I sat by her 
and soothed her in this way: I said to her,—‘* Mother, Jesus 
is just as able to still the tempest 7z0w as He was when His 
poor disciples were tossed upon the boisterous ocean.”’ She 
laid hold of the thought in a moment, and, with her poor 
blind eyes uplifted and streaming with tears, she cried out, 
‘Oh, yes! He is, He is!” and there waste ieameear ne 
“Yes,” she continued, *‘ He has piven men peace .semee: 
peace; He has said to my tempest-tossed soul,—‘ Peace, be 
still,’ and there zs a great calm.” JI am thankful to have this 
joy of sitting by her and ministering to her needs. She will 
lie for hours with the sweetest countenance and the appear- 
ance of perfect consciousness. I was with her awhile after 





TORG LORY 77 


TE Be SU MEE PE PO SP Bm 


breakfast this morning, reading and talking with her, and 
then told her I wanted to go and write to thee. She always 
speaks of Uncle George and thee together. She urged me 
to go at once. I suggested that she might get a little sleep 
while I was gone. ‘*Oh! don’t mind leaving me awake,” 
she replied ; ‘‘ my mind is free and peaceful, and I shall lie 
here and think of many comforting things—think of my 
many mercies. I am very undeserving, but my blessed 
Lord is good and kind to me, a poor, unworthy creature.” 

I wish I could tell more of the beautiful things she says, 
but I must leave it until we meet. I thought thee and Brother 
George would like to hear just how she seems, and have 
been thus minute. She often asks how many children she 
has, but speaks very often of George, with perfect recollec- 
tion and a great desire to see him, and thee, too. ‘* Dear 
Sarah !—how glad I should be to see Zer—but I never shall ; 
but I could take her by the hand, and that would be such 
a comfort.”” My own health is very good. I sleep up-stairs, 
in auntie’s room; it is warm and comfortable, with a stove 
that keeps warm all night, and Harriet sleeps with me ;—so 
thou sees how wonderfully I am cared for. 

Last third day was Quarterly Meeting, but I thought the 
weather too cold to go with safety, so concluded to stay with 
mother while the rest went. There is no meeting to-day, 
but I shall probably get out first day. Yesterday it snowed 
hard all day, and this morning is cold and clear, with six or 
seven inches of snow. The girls are going into West Ches- 
ter in the sleigh, and I must send this letter by them. I 
neglected to tell thee in my letter of second day that there 
was no snow on the mountains, except a very slight cover- 
ing that seemed to have fallen in a few minutes, but nothing 
like covering the ground anywhere. 


78 THROUGH GRACE 2: 


SO 


If thou has opportunity, give my love to Harrison Alder- 
son and Joseph Taylor. I shall miss them if I visit their 
homes while they are absent, but they must stay in Cincin-— 
nati until I return. I had a very nice note from dear H.- 
Ladd ;—give her my love, but I cannot answer her now. I 
must close, with love to all. 

In great haste, thy loving MorTuHeER. 


The two following letters, written while my mother 
continued to watch with the other loved ones about 


that dying pillow, will be read with interest : 


First Day AFTERNOON, 3d mo., 4, 1860. 


My Very Dear Saran :—I have just come out of grand- 
mother’s room to write a hasty letter to thee. She has con- 
tinued to grow weaker ever since I wrote on fifth day ; to-day 
she is exceedingly feeble, and, through the fore part of the — 
day, greatly distressed and troubled in mind—with some 
pressing evil she could not account for—begging us not to 
leave her for a moment, and to be sure and watch her bed ; 
that certainly something was wrong which she could not 
avert, or account for. It was very distressing to those who 
watched her, and Sister Rebecca says she does not know 
what they could do without me, for Iam the only one who 
can talk to mother. When:I’came in from meeting, I found 
her in great trouble, and they found it impossible to soothe 
her. I came to the bed and took her hand, and told her I 
was there, and that all was wel/ as regarded her; and that 
the troubled feelings were on account of her increasing in- 
firmity of body and mind, and that I wanted her to be en- 
tirely still for a while and try to fix her mind on the Lord 





TO GLORY. 79 


mm CT ee Se en Se 


Jesus, for He could keep her from all evil; and that, though 
these changes came over her feelings, there was not any 
change in Him; ‘‘ He was the same,—yesterday, to-day, 
and forever.” I told her I believed He would very soon re- 
lease her from all her sorrows, and take her to himself. She 
was perfectly still while I talked to her, and said,—‘* What 
a comfort—what a mercy!’’ Often expresses her earnest 
desire to depart, and frequently utters ejaculatory prayers, 
most solemnly impressive, and is always bright and clear in 
the recitation of Scripture passages. Sometimes I begin a 
comforting text, and she will take it up and finish it. Her 
pulse was rapid and feeble this afternoon, and she has slept 
but little to-day. 

I have hoped I would be at liberty to return the last of 
this week, as she rallied a little a few days ago; but the 
prospect vanishes entirely now, and all feel that they cannot 
give me up until the last great change comes, unless there 
should be a most decided change for the better. There seems 
no hope of thatnow. She takes very little nourishment, and 
to all human appearances cannot continue much longer ;— 
and what a mercy it will be to see her ransomed soul set free 
from the shackles of the frail, tottering tenement to take its 
purchased possession. Oh! what a costly mansion is pre- 
pared for the Lord’s redeemed ones,—nothing less than the 
costly price of His own precious blood. May none reject 
Him, thinking to prepare a rest for themselves. 

When I first came, she often enjoyed the idea that thee 
and Uncle George would come, but now that has all passed 
away ; and when she can realize that she is in the care of 
her own children, she always expresses her thankfulness, 
and is happy. Robert—dear, faithful Robert—brought me 
thy letter last evening. I was glad to get it, truly, but would 


380 THROUGH GRACE 


PE a 


have waited another day, my dear S., rather than have thee 
write so late at night. That, with thy care of the family, 
taxes thee too heavily, thy mother fears. 

I had a most interesting and comforting letter from Cousin 
D. J. this afternoon, which I will answer day after to-mor- 
row, if possible. Give my love to him and Cousin S. and 
all our friends. All send love to thee and G. Aunt R. 
says, ‘* Tell them we will send a dispatch when the change 
comes.” 

In near affection, I am, as ever, thy own loving 


MoTHER. 
Two days later she writes,— 


3p Day EVENING, 3d mo., 6, 1860. 
My Dearest S.:—I hardly know how to begin to write 
to-night, but feel unwilling to retire without commencing a 
letter, at least, though it is somewhat late. Thee and 
Brother George have doubtless received the dispatch sent at 


noon, which put you in possession of the looked-for intelli- 


gence that dear grandmother had been mercifully released 
from the perishing clay tenement, and had entered her ever- 
lasting rest. I wrote so hurriedly to thee on first day that I 
think it must be rather unsatisfactory, as I know I forgot 
many things I wished to say. 

On that day,—directly after that letter went,—mother 
changed so much that we thought her much worse, and thy 
aunt and I concluded that both of us would stay with her 
that night. Inthe morning she revived again, and it seemed 
as if nature was determined to rally and stimulate the sink- 
ing powers. The day passed much as others, with a good 
deal of distress at times. In the evening I begged thy aunt 
to let me remain with the dear invalid, as I might possibly, 





PFO-GLORY. a Oe 


TU Sen ee en CO CO A Me Me A 


and most probably would, have to leave her still with them, 
and I wanted to be with her all I could. Haddy stayed with 
me, but mother passed a very restless night—very trying— 
with evident marks of approaching dissolution, but the pulse 
would again and again change; but we got through the 
night with the expectation that she would be brighter and 
stronger, as had been the case daily for more than a week. 
But when the daylight fully revealed the expression of her 
face, I saw at once that the struggles of the night had made 
a wonderful change, and there was no returning strength, 
the pulse rapid and tremulous, with labored breathing, which 
continued to increase, and she became unable to speak so as 
to be understood. Brother Isaac came into the room to see 
her before going out, when I remarked to him that I thought 
the great change was near. But he thought not; said he 
thought it possible she might live in that state for two or 
three days. He passed into the sitting-room to write to thy 
Uncle William. All went out of the room except myself. 
In a short time I noticed a peculiar change in the respiration, 
and called to them not to close the letter, as I thought there 
would be a change very soon. The family soon gathered in 
silence around her bed. All the war in the members had 


ceased, and the precious one lay perfectly adjusted,—had 





used the last exertion in changing her position; told me not 
to lift her, that she could turn herself. She laid her hands 
in stillness on her breast, and in quietness and sweetness she 
passed away, almost without our knowing it; and, as I sat 
and watched the departing spirit, my poor, unworthy heart 
was raised in silent gratitude to my kind Heavenly Father, 
who had thus permitted me to witness what that precious 
mother so ardently desired from the first of my coming, and 
I have felt all day that thou wast partaking of the solemn 


Py ae Se RY eS oe ey ee ee. ee oe ee ee ee ae 


82 THROUGH GRACE 


CO 


privilege with me. It seems wonderful to me, as I look 
upon her sweet, peaceful face, that her earthly course is 
really finished and I permitted to witness her departure,— 
the long-cherished desire of my heart, and many a secret pe- 
tition (I think without adequate faith), that such a boon 
might be mine. 

I shall return to my home and thee as soon as possible, 
after we have laid the dear one in the grave until the glori- 
ous Resurrection morning. ‘The journey does not look for- 
midable to me at all, and I shall be permitted, I trust, to 
arrive in safety and find all well ;—at any rate I think I have 
a grain of faith in committing myself, with all who are dear 
to me, to His care and disposal who so mercifully has 
watched over me my life long; whom | desire to serve, with 
_a dedicated heart, all the remaining days of my pilgrimage. 
With love to all, I am as ever, thy loving mother, 

HARRIET STEER. 


As I greatly feared the effect on my mother of the 
proposed journey immediately after the funeral, I 
wrote, urging her to remain a few days, until the 
strain of the watching and the sorrow were relieved 
by rest; and, as the friends there had also desired 
a little season of rest for her, to which she had con- 
sented, she wrote the following letter, which, though 
touching on personal matters in answer to a letter to 
her, is yet so loving and characteristic that it is re- 
corded. There is so little from her own pen, that 
doubtless all will be glad to read it. It bears date 





TO GLORY. 83 


after the last offices of affection were bestowed upon 
the dear aged one. 


‘6 THE Mapes,” 2d mo., 8, 1860. 

My Precious SArAu:—I am so thankful for thy letter, 
and for thy kind suggestion that a few days of quiet rest 
should be mine before going home. Thy uncle and aunt 
were not willing to have me start sooner than next week, 
and though this will be my last letter to thee, yet I shall ex- 
pect ¢wo more from thee. 

And now, dear S., I want to say just here that I was fully 
able to appreciate thy feelings, and glad thee so frankly ex- 
pressed to me the deepest feelings of thy heart; for I do 
assure thee, my dear, that, though there has been the veil of 
silence drawn over the scenes of the past, yet my heart sym- 
pathies have never ceased to flow out to thee in tenderest 
solicitude, accompanied by the secret and earnest petition 
that Jesus, our compassionate and loving Saviour, will fill 
thee with His own love; and that thy heart, once bruised 
and sorrowing, may find rest and joy and peace in Him; 
and though, I know, there are many things existing in your 
church, as well as in our own, that are of a trying and dis- 
quieting nature, yet as we look, my dear S., to the great 
Head alone who does emphatically take care of His church, 
He will in His own time and way cause His humble, trust- 
ing children to triumph over all these devices of the enemy, 
and, clothed in His righteousness, they shall go on conquer- 
ing, through Him, to the end of this pilgrimage; and then 
the trials and disappointments and tribulations of the present 
time will be nothing in comparison to the ‘‘ eternal weight of 
glory” that they shall inherit. 

My beloved S., may thou and I be of this number, that, 


‘=f S - al S ao ae -_ ee) - ~ = i= 
7 ——— ce oe eae Pits Uae (See os ria = cd 

i ae pa ae -¥ ap hs ee i} ae , LN A i eh Fh a - 

, . vey (ok Se Piet lig ie ai - P d 


84 THROUGH GRACE a 
emt ourselves and taking up willingly and cheerfully 
our daily cross and following Jesus, we shall be numbered 
with those who await His coming, with lamps trimmed and 
burning, prepared to enter with Him into the marriage sup- 
per of the Lamb. a 

I have been interrupted a number of times since ] began 
this letter, and have not been able to write at all what I felt — 
and intended when I begun; but now I must abruptly close. 

In very near and tender sympathy, I am, as ever, 

Thy loving mother, 
HARRIET STEER. 


* * % 
‘«T will keep thee in all places whither thou goest.” 


‘¢Make a little fence of trust 
Around to-day; 
Fill the space with loving words, 
And therein stay. 


‘* Look not through the sheltering bars 
Upon to-morrow ; 

God will help thee bear what comes, 
Of joy or sorrow.” 


Returning in health and safety from the visit so sat- 

- isfactory to all, my mother was more than usually 
cheerful, having—as she often expressed it—received 
new incentives and inspirations to activity in the cause 
of Christ, and passing days still found her treading 
higher slopes of duty, as she travelled onward in the 





TO GLORY. 85 


ath that was to *‘ grow brighter and brighter unto the 
p po gS 8 
perfect day.” 


* * 
* * * 


“ Hach morn an even 
Still found her higher up the narrow stairs 
That wind towards heaven. ” 

It was truly surprising that with such frequent at- 
tacks of extreme illness, and surrounded, too, in her 
home, with multiplied and imperative duties, she yet 
found time to attend so many meetings in the various 
and oftentimes distant sections of our country. Thus 
the autumn of 1863 found her in attendance upon 
Iowa Yearly Meeting, accompanied by her dear 
friends Charles and Rhoda Coffin, and Frances T. 
King, of Baltimore. She went in the love of the Gos- 
pel of Christ, and thoroughly enjoyed the occasion in 
all respects,—physically, socially, spiritually. The 
letters, which shall now speak for her, will show the 
many-sided interests which claimed her affectionate 
attention. She had many dear friends there,—friends 
who had removed from the East and settled in Iowa. 
Besides these, she had a beloved brother, who with 
his family had removed to that state many years be- 
fore; and she went with the assured hope of meeting 


this brother, from whom she had been thus long sep- 


Ti = See On ee eee hee 





86 THROUGH GRA CE 


Oe Se CE 


-araté. The first letter recorded is written from Chi- 
cago, at which point the party stopped, taking the 
journey by easy stages. ‘The letter is dated,— 


TrREMONT House, CHICAGO, 
gth mo., 6, 1863. 

My Dear Sarau:—I wrote thee a hurried note from 
Charles Coffin’s yesterday afternoon, and before thou can 
receive it I will probably be at my journey’s end. I would 
be glad if the letter could travel faster, that thy mind might 
be earlier relieved; but thou must learn to hope, and never 
despair. Charles and Rhoda returned, as I wrote, about 6 
o’clock p. M., and concluded to go on with us; and we left 
Richmond at 10% o’clock, and reached this point a little be- 
fore S o’clock this morning. After breakfast we learned there 
were several other friends at another hotel; we joined them, 
and had a very excellent meeting, the Lord wondrously ful- 
filling His promise to be with the “ two or three ” who meet 
nh bligsiatle, 

At half-past 1 o’clock C. and R., with F. T. King, visited 
one of the mission schools, and another at 3 o’clock. We 
dine at 4% o’clock, have another meeting at 6, and leave 
here at 8.15, arriving at Burlington, Iowa, in the morning 
to breakfast; then push on to the terminus of the railroad | 
by 1% o’clock p. M., which is nine miles from our destina- 
tion, which will be reached by coach in about two hours. 
I will finish and forward this as soon as I can after reaching 
Oskaloosa. 

3p Day Morninc, 9:8. 

I wish thou could know, dearest, how well and refreshed 

I feel this morning; but thou must wait awhile, and that 





TORGLOR Y. 87 


ve TOO OO MO Onn CO SE ee HL ais 


anxiously-hoped-for letter will reach thee with its good tid- 
-ings. We arrived here about 4 o’clock, yesterday afternoon ; 
were met by many Friends, who came to take the strangers 
to their various homes, and we were all soon on the way. 
F. T. King and myself are at the boarding-school, with six 
or eight others. C. and R. went to their cousin’s, close by 
us, and we expect an addition of thirty to-morrow, and then 
our family will be considered full. 

Benjamin and Jane Hollingsworth are the proprietors, 
with whom I am well acquainted. The meeting-house is 
not the distance of a square from us, so thou sees I will not 
be obliged to use too much exercise in the way of walking. 
Everything is nice and clean, and the table plentifully and 
comfortably supplied; but the Institution being in its in- 
fancy, there are many conveniences wanting. 

The country is beautiful,—well wooded and rolling, with 
the appearance of good farming in many places, though 
others look as if the people lived with as little exertion as 
possible. 

We met with dear T. W. Ladd in Ottumwa, and he ex- 
pects to be here. I met a friend last evening who saw thy 
Uncle Samuel, and he intends being here at the public 
meeting, and then I shall arrange about my visit to them: 
they are only fourteen miles from here. 

The Yearly Meeting will most likely close this day week, 
and I will only have until the 7th day following to visit un- 
cle’s, as I must at that time be in Plainfield to attend the 
meetings there. I shall not write again while I am here, as 
I shall be too iiisye) Lhe country -here seems entirely 
healthy ; the water, both here and along the road, excellent ; 
and I hope there will be no anxious fears for me. Love to 
Cousins David and Susan, with their dear children,—to Isaac 


88 . THROUGH GRACE 


SB CE Le | 


and Mary, and all who ask for me. I must write no more 
now; will do so when I reach Plainfield. Meet me witha 
letter there, directing to the care of Shildes Moore. 
As ever, thy loving 
MorTuHeER. 


At the close of the meeting, where she saw so many 
dear friends, she was permitted to make the long- 
desired visit to her brother Samuel, who was the 
youngest member of her own family, and greatly be- 
loved by her. His home was in Indianapolis, lowa, 
only fourteen miles distant. From this point she 
writes the following letter, which will give some par- 
ticulars of the visit: 

gth mo., 16, 1863. 

My Dear SaraAu :—I am truly glad of this quiet retreat, 
after the crowding interests of the past week; that I can sit 
down and feel that I have time to write to thee, though I 
have enjoyed the meeting and seeing many faces that were 
familiar very much indeed; and I have been preserved in 
health and peace of mind, for which double blessing I hope 
I am thankful. Thy Uncle Samuel came yesterday, before 
meeting closed, as previously arranged through his son 
James, who attended public meeting on first day and found 
me, through the kind attentions of T. W. and B. Ladd, both 
of whom I had on the look-out. We arrived here about 
dark, when thy Aunt Sarah and the girls very cordially 
welcomed me. Friends are nearly all going on this morn- 
ing towards Western Yearly Meeting at Plainfield, Ind., 
but, as B. Ladd and wife and sister are going next second 





TO GLORY. 89 


TE SE SE Se 


day, I have concluded to stay here until that time, and thy 
uncle will take me to Ottumwa that morning. I will join 
them and leave after dinner for Chicago and Indianapolis, 
Ind., reaching Plainfield about 5 o’clock, 3d day evening, 
giving me only three days of the meeting. But I feel 
more willing to make the sacrifice of losing two or three 
days in the beginning of the meeting than not to avail my- 
self of the greater comfort I feel in visiting dear Brother 
Samuel and his family: indeed, I feel this the greater duty. 
They would be so glad to have thee here too, and I would 
be delighted to have thee; but, as duties never clash, or 
ought not to, we must be satisfied with our allotments, and 
fill up the moments-of duty as they are on the wing, and 
may not tarry for our dilatory souls. 

I must say for Iowa that it is delightful to me. I wonder 
not that so many are pressing into it. I have as yet seen no 
' prairie country ;—it is heavily and plentifully timbered, well 
watered, healthy, and beautiful. 

I have had‘no letter from thee; but while it would have 
been most acceptable, yet I have been without anxiety, hay- 
ing committed thee, with myself, to the protecting care of 
our Heavenly Father, who never slumbers; therefore noth- 
ing can harm us. I have written twice to thee, which I 
hope thou received, though they were very poor, hurried 
letters. I tried to find leisure to write, but there was such 
a crowd, with a succession of duties, that writing seemed 
impossible. Thou cannot imagine the full days I have had ; 
a great many who knew me claimed my time. My home 
was so near the meeting-house that great numbers called to 
see me, and every afternoon there was a session of the 
First Day School Conference, most deeply interesting, and 
which I felt bound to attend. But I must not prolong this 


gO THROUGH GGRAaCe 


PM Himuieme 


letter ; will have much to tell thee when we meet. All send 
love to thee from this lovely and truly hospitable home. I 
will send to Oskaloosa to-morrow to see if I may not have 
a letter from thee yet before I leave Iowa. Farewell, dear- 
est. Let us trust and not be afraid. 
Thy loving 
MoTHER. 

The plan thus formed, to meet the friends at Ottum- 
wa and join them in the journey to Western Yearly 
Meeting, was completed, and mother was allowed to 
be in attendance the last three days. A letter, written 
while there, has also been destroyed, so that only the 
mere mention of this visit is made. She was very 
happy in meeting many whom she held most dear, 
and in her heartsome way enjoyed the reunion with 
those from whom she had been long separated. At 
the close of the meeting she visited among Friends in 
adjacent neighborhoods, attended several meetings, 
and seemed blessed herself as she was made a bless- 
ing to others. ‘Thus she occupied the time, until, her 
own Yearly Meeting at Richmond, Ind., recurring, 
she found herself once more among her own people. 
At the close of its various sittings, occupying a week, 
she returned home in the possession of that peace 


which ‘* passeth all understanding.” 


* * 
* * * 





TO GLORY. gI 


ne MO MO MM A A 


‘¢Oh! use me, Lord, use even me, 
Just as Thou wilt, and when, and where, 
Until Thy blessed face I see,— 
Thy rest, Thy joy, Thy glory share.” 

Again was my mother called away from home to 
visit in Gospel love the Friends of Baltimore Yearly 
Meeting. She was accompanied by her cherished 
friend, Hannah P. Smith. This was very acceptable 
to both, for they were most affectionately united in 
every good work. The meeting with highly valued 
friends and the religious service of my mother were 
sources of deep joy to all, and they were blessed with 
abundance of peace. At the close of this meeting 
both H. P. S. and my mother went to Philadelphia to 
visit friends and relatives. The dear home at ‘‘ The 
Maples” had been saddened by the death of a beloved 
daughter, Harriet Hayes, my mother’s namesake, and 
very dear to her. She did not go in vain, but was a 
great comfort to the stricken hearts there; she seemed 
to carry comfort everywhere she went. She possessed 
a heart ‘‘ at leisure from itself to soothe and sympa- 
thize.” After a week of rest and sweet personal com- 
munion with the bereaved sister and mourning family, 
she returned to her home, where the entire family were 
glad to welcome her once more. Bright and cheerful 
herself, she literally made others glad. All looked up 


Q2 THROUGH GRACE 


to her for the counsel and guidance which they never 
failed to obtain from her lips and life; they partook, 
more or less, of her vitality—of her spirituality. Her 
loved presence ever seemed to make crooked things 
straight, rough places smooth; and her hope and en- 
thusiasm lent such a charm to hfe that even ‘* bitter 


things were made sweet.” 


‘* Only for Jesus ! 
Lord, keep this forever 
Sealed on the heart 
And engraved on the life; 
Pulse of all gladness, 
And nerve of endeavor, 
Secret of rest, 
And the strength for our strife.” 

This thought—‘‘ Only for Jesus’—led my mother 
to yield to the constraining love of Christ, and to go 
forth as the Master did, to seek, not only the lost, but 
the lonely-hearted and heavy-laden,—those of His 
own fold,—who were discouraged, and who by some 
means had been turned out of the way. 

In the year 1871 she thus felt drawn to visit Friends 
in the mountain regions of Pennsylvania,—attending 
their meetings, visiting families and also isolated indi- 
viduals, in that section of her native state. She always 
spoke of it as a special favor and a kind provision of 


her Heavenly Father that she was allowed the com- 


ee Se 


es 


TO GLORY. 93 


pany of her almost life-long friend, Elizabeth Baily, 
who was her faithful companion on this journey. 
Their first meeting was at Altoona, Pa., where were 
found two or three families of Friends. The next 
place visited was Tyrone, from which point they went 
to Bellefonte. Here they found a large company of 
Friends, and were most cordially welcomed and kindly 
entertained at the home of Isaac Miller and his bright, 
cheery wife, of whom my mother often spoke in tones 
of loving and grateful remembrance. Mother ever 
recurred to this visit as a time of refreshing joy to all 
their souls. They were joined by John Scott and his 
companion, and extended their journey to the neigh- 
borhood of Clearfield, which was north from Altoona, 
and farther in among the spurs of the mountains. The 
country was unimproved, and some of the travelling 
had to be performed by stage coaches, and over very 
rough roads. This was somewhat difficult for her, 
but she counted nothing hard which she was permitted 
to do for Him who did so much for her, and she relied 
implicitly on the precious promise of the gracious Sav- 
iour,—‘‘I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.” 
This, she believed, was realized in her case, and thus 
was she wondrously sustained, even with her bodily 


infirmities, which would have rendered almost any one 


94 LHROUGH GRACE 


else helpless. And so she went about doing good, 
fearing nothing,—often saying, ‘‘I always find a 
helping hand when I need it,” her happy heart, with 
its overcoming faith, enabling her to ride upon the 
threatening billow, her head ever kept above the 
waves, as she trusted Him who is mighty to save. 
She often bemoaned her own weakness and folly, and 
has often been heard to say that she was ‘*‘ weakness _ 
itself,” and frequently quoted the following lines of F. 
R. H. as appropriate to herself: 
‘*T am so weak, dear Lord, 
I cannot stand one moment without Thee; 
But oh! the tenderness of Thine enfolding! 
And oh! the faithfulness of Thine upholding! 
And oh! the strength of Thy right hand! 
That strength is enongh for me.” 

In this visit all hearts seemed drawn very Closely to 
my mother, and yet she refused the meed of praise 
from human lips, often saying to them,—* Iam but 
the humble though honored instrument used by the 
Holy Spirit to lift you up to Him ‘ whose we are and 
whom we serve ;’ to God belongs all the glory. “Not 
unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name, 
give glory, for Thy mercy and for Thy truth’s sake.’ ” 
After spending two or three weeks in this labor of 


love, my mother felt her mind relieved from the press- 





TO GLORY. 95 


ure of further service there, and after many tender 
farewells, spoken in the usual cheerful, hopeful man- 
ner, she and her beloved companion retraced their 
steps to Altoona. Here they parted for a little season, 
E. Baily returning westward and visiting relatives at 
Cleveland, while my mother sought needed rest and 
refreshment in the sweet home and quiet companion- 
ship of her sister at ‘‘ The Maples.” She went there 
very much worn and wearied in body, but her spirit- 
ual strength was vigorous, and her very soul seemed 
bathed in peace and joy; and, as that dear sister tes- 
tified, she shed gladness upon all who came within 
the circle of her influence. While there she penned 
the following letter to the loved one from whom she 
had parted, and who had been so helpful to her, both 
on the journey and in the Gospel service, undertaken 


and ministered in so much feebleness of body : 


"Wast CHESTER, Sth mo., 17,1971. 

My Dear FRrRiEnp E. Batty :—Manya time has come to 
me the memory of thy parting look,—the quick-spoken fare- 
well on the porch at Altoona,—as well as the pleasant mem- 
ories of our united service in the various localities of those 
isolated Friends among the mountains, by whom we were 
always so cordially welcomed and cared for; and I had 
hoped, long before this, to have acknowledged my apprecia- 
tion of thy help and comfort to me in many ways: in the 


96 THROUGH GRACE 


OE Men CO Sen PT nt See tt Ste Set et Me ee 


encouraging word, spoken in season; in bearing fatigue 
cheerfully ; in vigorously waiting on my many infirmities 
with such uniform kindness in all our journeyings. But 
Sarah joined me the day after I reached Brother Isaac’s, and 
we left in a few days for a week’s rest at Atlantic City, then 
went to Burlington and vicinity, visiting nearly a week, and 
very much enjoying our friends at the several places, and 
returned to sister’s on seventh day. On the third day follow- 
ing I was taken sick, and have been very slow in coming up 
to a tolerable state of health: have been to meeting but twice. 
So thou sees that time and ability to write were rather lim- 
ited, though no lack of interest was felt. - The past three or 
four days I feel so much better, that we think of leaving on 
second day next, the 21st inst., Sister Rebecca going with 
us as far as Altoona, and we may run up to ‘‘ Snow-shoe” 
mountain top, if we feel like it, and stay a few days, as we 
think it will do sister good to take a little rest. We expect 
to reach Mount Pleasant about the zoth. 

I hope thou reached Cleveland in safety and in season the 
evening after we parted. I arrived at Downington at 4 
o’clock in the afternoon, where I met my Brother Isaac and 
Sister Rebecca, and we were soon in this truly hospitable 
home. 

Notwithstanding a portion of my visit has been a time of 
extreme suffering, yet the consolation has abounded also, so 
that I have desired to possess a measure of the Apostle’s 
experience, that ‘‘in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be 
content,” and that in all my Heavenly Father’s dispensa- 
tions I may be able to say, ‘* Thy will be done.” 

I received a letter yesterday from Isaac Miller, of Belle- 
fonte, telling me that their house had been consumed by 
fire, a few days previous. It caused me much sadness as 





TO GLORY. 97 


TT TThS WORE MODEL MODE AUTON SUEY MODE MEO OUTED RED ATE) MANO AO 


my mental eye rested on that pleasant, comfortable home, 
and where we had been’so kindly entertained,—so soon a 
ruin. He and his wife are in Wilmington, Del., for the 
present. Please give my love to thy husband and all who 
inquire for me. 

Thy sincerely attached friend, HARRIET STEER. 


** Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest awhile.” 


As soon as my mother was able for the journey, 


the contemplated visit to ‘‘ Snow-shoe” was made, 


and thoroughly enjoyed by all; and, resting amid 
that beautiful mountain scenery, my mother and aunt 
were much improved in bodily health and strength. 
It proved also a time of refreshing to their souls :— 
‘*they drank of the brook by the way, therefore they 
lifted up the head.” At the end of a week they left 
the mountain top, and down in the valley, where the 
shadows lie, another of earth’s farewells was spoken ; 
and, though faith-sustained, and with eyes fixed upon 
the ‘‘hills of God” where eternal sunshine dwells, 
yet it seemed a solemn parting, and it proved the 
last to these fond sisters. They were indeed clasp- 
ing hands and looking into each other’s love-lit eyes 
for the last time; but they knew it not. 
“Oh! happy, blessed ignorance! ’tis better not to know; 


It keeps me so still in the tender arms that will not let me go; 
It hushes my soul to rest on the bosom that loves me so. 





98 | THROUGH GRACE 


UL See eee MO A A Re Oe Me MO ee OO 


“My heart shrinks back from the trials the future may disclose, 

But I never had a sorrow but what the dear Lord chose; 

So I keep the coming tears back with the whispered words, ‘He 

knows.’ ” 

And thus they parted in gladness,—my aunt to 
brighten her home at ‘‘ The Maples,” and my moth- 
er, with renewed vigor, was again graciously per- 
mitted to return to Cincinnati, where she so truly 
delighted to be. She had relinquished her heavy 
cares, for her health and strength seemed gradually 
giving way beneath her increasing infirmities and 
accumulating years, and she had been induced to 
give up, for a time, at least, the heavy responsibili- 
ties of a large family of boarders. And on this re- 
turn, instead of going to her own home, she, with 
her brother and daughter, went to the rooms already 
prepared for their occupancy at a private boarding- 
house in Broadway, below 4th street. Here she 
experienced long months of intense physical suffer- 
ing, and, though attending all the sittings of her 
Yearly Meeting at Richmond, Iowa, that autumn, 
yet she returned to be a constant sufferer, and a 
close prisoner to her one room for nearly six months. 
So sustained was she through this season of afflic- 
tion, that not a murmur was heard to escape her 


lips. She was bright and happy all the time, and 


TO GLORY. ADO 


of the many who visited her in her sick-room dur- 
ing that long winter of pain, but few realized that 
she was suffering at all, so completely did her mind 
soar above the bodily infirmities. She blessed and 
praised the Lord at all times, and for all the way 
in which He was leading her, often saying, ‘* Though 
I am so unworthy, all my spiritual needs are gra- 
ciously supplied, while even my bodily wants—more 
than its needs—are abundantly provided for. ‘ What 
shall I render unto the Lord for all His benefits to- 
ward me?’” Most surely of this loved one it may 
be said,—‘‘ She hath done what she could.” She 


? 


did indeed ‘‘ take the cup of salvation,” not only for 
her own sustenance and refreshment, but she joy- 
ously handed it forth to all the hungry, thirsty ones 
who came within the reach of voice or hand, ‘‘ not 
only her lips but her life, not only her hfe but her 
lips,” testifying for Jesus. 

As the spring days grew warmer and brighter, 
her beloved physician,—‘* Cousin Doctor,” as she 
often called him,—directed that she should be care- 
fully treated for the time to come to fresh-air baths 
as often as she could bear them. She was accord- 
ingly helped down stairs and into a carriage, taking 


feemore ative, lhe air and exercise did her good, 


‘ee Tee 





100 LHROUGH CRACE 


as usual, and this course of treatment was pursued 
for several weeks, she growing stronger daily, al- 
though the effort of getting down-stairs and up again 
was attended with great pain and suffering, induc- 
ing exhaustion from which it sometimes took her 
hours to rally; still it was persevered in until health 
and strength were renewed. It soon became eyi- 
dent that she could not have the comforts there 
which could be commanded in her own home. It 
was therefore decided that a smaller house than she 
had hitherto occupied should be secured, and she 
again assume the pleasant duties of a home, with 
no care of boarders. This was a delightful change 
to mother, and did much to renew both health and 
life. Her family was now limited to five or six in 
number, and the change was_ favorable for both 


health and comfort. 
* * * 


*¢ His blessed angel, Sorrow,—she hath walked 
For years beside me, and we two have talked 
As chosen friends together. And thus I know 
Trouble and sorrow are not near of kin. 
Trouble distrusteth God, and ever wears 
Upon her brow the seal of anxious cares. 
~ But Sorrow oft hath deepest peace within ; 
She sits with patience in perpetual calm, 
Waiting till Heaven shall send the healing balm.” 





TO GLORY. IOI 


In the early spring of 1874 a sudden sorrow was 
permitted to come to the heart of this dear saint of 
the Lord. It came almost like a thunderbolt out of 
a clear sky, without note of warning,—a telegram, 
announcing the hopeless illness of her precious sis- 
ter, Rebecca Hayes, who, through all life’s changes 
and sorrows, had been so lovingly devoted to my 
mother. The sad news fell with almost stunning 
power on the now aged loved one, who was at this 
very time herself ill in bed, and had been antici- 
pating a promised visit from her sister to minister 
Peeieeei these: hours of *sickness and suffering. 
Her ever kind physician read the telegram to her. 
She received the news calmly, as was her wont, 
as 1f she knew—as she did—the Hand that held the 
cup and asked her to drink it; she took it as from 
a loving God, whose fatherhood and the wisdom of 
whose love she never doubted. And, though words 
of comfort were spoken, and she was urged to be- 
heve she might hear more favorable accounts,—that 
‘while there is life there is hope”—the dear one 
might be spared,—she refused what she felt was false 
comfort. ‘*‘ No, no,” she said, ‘‘ Sister Rebecca will 
never rally; and I believe she is even now dead, 


and they have only sent this dispatch to prepare me 





102 THROUGH GRACE 


for the worst.” And it was even as she said, for 
in a few hours a second dispatch announced that 
the loved and loving one had passed away from 
earth, to be ‘‘ forever with the Lord.” 

The entire unselfishness of her grand character 
was seen in that my mother grieved more for others 
than for herself,—for the stricken hearts in that des- 
olated home at ‘‘ The Maples,” that mourning hus- 
band, the broken-hearted grief of the son and daugh- 
ter; and almost immediately she rose above her own 
grief and infirmities, and her sickness even. The 
enfeebled powers of her body seemed to rally at 
once, and from that moment she felt they needed 
her in that saddened home. She dictated the re- 
ply, ‘‘Shall be unable to attend the funeral, but 
hope to be with you in three weeks.” She sat up 
a little while the next day, and steadily gained. In 
a week or ten days she was able to respond to a 
letter which she received from the sorrow-stricken 
daughter, who was married and resided in West 
Philadelphia. The letter is dated as follows: 


264 Race St., 3domOa.1Ojrn 
My Dearest Fanny :—Thy letter came this morning, 
and every word was most precious to us, and those words 
were written with many tears; so were they read and re- 





TO GLORY. 103 


PO ee 


read by us. Our souls are united as one in this great sor- 
row, and I feel every day I must be with thee, to talk of 
things we cannot write ; the pen cannot reach the depths of 
our hearts. I think I am much better now, but have only 
been out once, as our weather has been unfavorable—cold 
and stormy: hada hard snow-storm yesterday, which will 
keep mea prisoner to the house still longer. Iam sorry 
we directed thy letters to West Chester instead of Philadel- 
phia, but can easily see thou could not stay longer with 
them then. Am glad they have some one, and I hope it 
will not be very long ere I can go to them. 

I hope thou has by this time received Sally’s letter, which 
was detained. Thy precious father and brother are before 
our sorrowing hearts a great deal, but we can and do com- 
mit them in their deep affliction to His loving power Who 
alone can comfort and sustain them. I am so glad they 
have been down to see you. I do hope thy dear H. will 
take care of his strength, and not be too feeble when the 
debilitating spring weather sets in, so as to prostrate him 
entirely. Thy photograph is excellent, and it is a great 
comfort to us to have it; it is very sweet, but we looked and 
looked until we could almost fancy it was baptized into sor- 
row ; all our pictures look so to me when death comes. I 
will tell thee more about this, if it please our Father in 
heaven that we meet on His foot-stool. There is no peace, 
no joy, no true rest, until we can give our all to Him, and 
say, in the depths of our souls, ‘* Thy will, O Father, not 
mine, be done.” 

Those little darling children! how precious they seem to 
me—no shadow over their young hearts; and I can appre- 
ciate thy deep struggle many a time to banish the least look 
of sadness from thy face for their sakes; and this is right 


ey Me THROUGH GRACE 


D SSGE MUDD PELE SUE UE DOSE SUE Rae DRE MRD RO De 


towards them, but hard for thee. But, dear Fanny, the 
blessed Saviour will help thee. Oh! He has already helped, 
comforted, and strengthened thee. Let us bless His holy 
name forever. 

I had a letter from dear Rebecca Judkins after she had 
been to call on thee, which was the first we knew of thy 
having returned to the city. We did feel very grateful to 
her for several letters, giving us particulars, for of course 
we could not expect any member .of the family to write. 
She also wrote the evening after the funeral. 

I inclose thy precious mother’s last letter to me. I have 
read it over and over again with a sorrowing heart. What 
joy her dear letters always brought! Just one short week 
after I received this letter that crushing telegram came. 
Oh! we have great need in this uncertain life to be so 
planted on the Rock of Ages as to be sustained under the 
severest stroke of His unerring wisdom. | 

Thy uncle and S. join me in love to all. 

Believe me ever thy loving and tenderly sympathizing 
aunt, 

HARRIET STEER. 


Mother always knew when she was able for an 
undertaking which she was to enter upon from any 
sense of duty or religious obligation, so that often, 
when her friends thought her too sick and suffering 
to journey at all, she would mentally make her 
plan to start at a stated time. Her word was law, 
and no one doubted but that her faith would carry 


her through. So on this occasion of hastening to 





TO GLORY. 105 


the sorrowing group of survivors at ‘* The Maples,” 
there was a way opened for her to have suitable 
company. Her kind friend, Mr. Alfred Gaither, 
hearing through his little daughter, Lizzie, that 
mother desired to go, sent word that he intended 
leaving the first of the next week for Philadelphia, 
and would be glad to take her. Accordingly on 
seventh day she said,—‘‘ Sarah, I am able now to 
go, and shall accept the opportunity offered.” She 
was extremely feeble, but as travelling always helped 
to restore her, she was encouraged and assisted to 
get ready, and the next second day morning started 
with Mr. Gaither in his private car. There were 
several ladies and gentleman in the company, and 
she had a most luxurious journey, without fatigue 
or expense, and her health improved from the time 
she started. She reached her accustomed destina- 
tion— Downingtown—where she was met by the dear 
brother, though she missed the loving greeting of 
her sister. But she went to carry comfort, and not 
to indulge in personal grief; and her cheerful faith 
did much to help them meet and enter into life’s 
duties without the sweet incentive of that loving 
one’s presence. She took, so far as she could, the 


missing one’s place, taking up her work, and cheer- 


oo x eens + a a «, 
a zs a , ie: ‘ § 25 = eels. . i 
106 THROUGH GRACE 


ing the sorrowing circle onward and upward. While 
helping them to take up the work the dear departed 
one had dropped, she wrote the following letter to 
her niece in Philadelphia, for whom, with her hus- 
band and little ones, they were all anxiously await- 
ing their coming to spend several weeks. 

She writes,— 


West CHEsTER, 5th mo., 6, 1874. 
Dearest Fanny :—On the fifth day after meeting we 
went to the station in the joyful hope of meeting thy hus- 
band, self, and little ones there, but were disappointed. I 
am longing to see thee, but want to be patient; thou sees I 
am trying to take a philosophical view of the subject in the 
continued anticipation of pleasure. 

We have visited that sacred, quiet spot where thy pre- 
cious mother’s remains, are laid, there to repose until 
the morning of the Resurrection. There is a hallowed 
feeling pervading the bereaved scene here that is a true 
comfort to the lonely hearts,—and we try to take up life’s 
broken thread, with its duties, morning by morning; and 
the days, to me, are beginning to glide more speedily by 
than for the first two weeks. I do miss that loved sister 
wherever [ turn. We missed thee too, when thee was gone, 
thy stay seemed such a moment of time; and dear little 
Helen, too,—all missed the brightness of her sweet young 
life from our midst. But I hope you will come soon, and 
arrange to stay as long as possible. Don’t wait until all thy 
sewing is done; bring the button-holes here, and I can make 
them. I know, with so many little people, the item of but- 
ton-holes in the family sewing is not small. We had a nice 








TO GLORY. 3 107 
visit at Westtown this day week. Poor Bettie feels that she 
has lost her best friend. Poor girl! she wept as if her heart 
would break while we were there. 

I receive letters often from Sarah. She will be here as 
soon as her school closes. Says she must see thee as soon 
as she arrives, and can hardly bear to think thee is not to 
spend the entire summer here, and we all feel a good deal 
that way. I expect to have a colored woman here on sec- 
ond day, who we have a hope will be serviceable. Phebe 
and Nora get along nicely with the work, and I take up the 
repairing—and so glad to have the privilege. There was 
quite a number of pieces laid away to be made ready for the 
harvest work, and Phebe gave it to me all done up in a 
large basket, with the patches all ready, folded up by her 
dear hands. What a sad, sweet-pleasure it is to carry out 
her plans for the comfort of the tired ones of the harvest 
field. 

Hoping very soon to see thee, I will close, with a mes- 
sage of love to thy husband and little ones, desiring thee to 


believe me thy ever loving aunt, 
ee HARRIET STEER. 


_ P. $.—Sarah will arrive here one week from next third 
day. She is very much worn and tired from close and ex- 
haustive labor, and I want her to go on to New Bedford 
after she rests here for a short time. 


Aunt H. 
After a week’s delay the dear ones from Philadel- 
phia arrived, and the home was brightened by loving 
hearts, and made merry by the musical patter of 


little feet, and gladdened by the laughter and shout 





108 THROUGH GRACE 


of the dear children who knew no SOrrow._ The Mi 
youngest of the grandchildren, growing aweary of 
sadness and tears, which it was impossible to hide 
at all times, grasped her grandfather’s hand one day, 
and in bright, cheery tones said,—‘‘ Grandpa, let’s 
go and see Don: Don isn’t dead!” “(Don wasea 
favorite dog.) And so the little child led the sorrow- 
stricken one away from gloomy thoughts to a glad 
appreciation of what was left of life yet to be thank- 
ful for. The ‘children of a larger growth” looked 
into each others’ faces, caught the lesson from the 
baby lips, and made more successful efforts to be 
brave and cheerful. 

Uncle Isaac, being thus surrounded by children 
and grandchildren, my dear mother was induced to 
leave him for awhile and take the journey to New 
Bedford, thus meeting and mingling once more with 
her cherished friends there, Uncle Isaac coming for 
us when the visit was completed. Thus, in the cov- 
eted pleasure of meeting with dear friends and do- 
ing what she might to lift burdens of sorrow from 
other hearts, my precious mother was constantly 
blessed, and improved physically, returning in the 
autumn of this year to attend once more her Yearly 


Meeting, which was a part of her very life. 


TOCUGHORY- 109 


CE TO AOE De SE Ree 


Through the trackless years of all her pilgrimage, 
mother so believed the promises of God and appro- 
priated them, that this reality of ‘‘unseen things” 
to her, and this practising belief in the goodness of 
God, gave her that uniform cheerfulness, and fear- 
lessness, and buoyancy of spirit which were a constant 
wonder to many, and which have so often quieted the 
trembling heart of the writer, as she saw her mother 
attempt*to do what seemed almost impossible. An 
incident on this point: At one time mother was ex- 
tremely ill at the home of her kind relatives, S. and 
D. Howell. One night about 2 o’clock she waked 
me, and very quietly said,—‘‘ Sarah, I must go home 
in the morning.” I felt that it was impossible, and 
could not be attempted ; Bnd wn as tew. and,’ as: ol 
thought, well chosen words, I tried to dissuade her 
from the thought. She listened so quietly that I 
felt almost certain I had gained the point. When 
I finished she did not speak immediately; she then 
spoke just as quietly, but a little more firmly,— 
*¢Sarah, I must go home in the morning, if I ever 
go, and what I say is more for thy sake than my 
own.” She then turned over and went to sleep, but 
I did not. I pondered her words and manner in my 


heart, and, when I knew she was soundly sleeping, 


IIO THROUGH GRACE 


I rose and packed our trunks, and made every prep- " 
aration for an early start, and then lay down beside 
her and waited for the day. (I am afraid I forgot 
to cast out the anchors, for I was terribly tossed 
about.) As soon as it was light I went to my cou- 
sins and told them of mother’s decision. They both 
said it would be impossible, and, as she was so- 
sick and feeble, I must take the matter into my own — 
hands and tell her she could not go. I said I had 


never done that in my life, and, sick as she ae 


and aged and feeble—there yet was a power and 
a meaning beyond the common-place in what she 
said, and I should do as she said. When she awoke 
she was extremely feeble, but remarked that, though 
she had no strength, she had faith to go; remarked 
that she had but one earthly wish in regard to the 
matter, and that was that she could go in Elijah— 
Thorn’s carriage. Of course that was impossible, 
for they were miles away, and knew nothing of the 
new plan. Those of us who dressed and waited on 
this dear one that quiet, sad morning, knew the sink- 
ing heart and the anxious fears which were un- 
voiced in our every thought. Just before cousin went 
to get the horses, a carriage drove up to the door, 
and it was Elijah and Mary Thorn !_had only. 








LTO GLORY: III 


driven over to see how the loved invalid was. I 
looked up at mother—to a sweet smile lighting up 
her pale face, which said as plainly as spoken words 
could, ‘‘ With God all things are possible’—even 
to bringing the carriage she desired, because it was 
easier for her to get into. We started,—and it was 
the saddest start we ever made. I seated the pre- 
cious invalid as comfortably as I could, and took a 
seat in front of her; and though she did not look 
as if she could live to reach home, I dared not 
speak to her lest I should add to the trouble. At 
last, in answer to my anxious look, and as if divin- 
ing my meaning and pitying my unexpressed agony 
of mind, she leaned towards me, and I bent to 
catch her feeble words ;—they were these: ‘‘ Sarah, 
the Lord God, who made heaven and earth, is my 
strength.” With the vital touch, as of a living faith, 
my heart was thrilled, and I answered,—‘‘ Then 
we shall get home.” At Xenia I stepped off the 
car, asked for a glass of rich milk, handed it to 
mother without words, went into the telegraph office 
‘and sent messages for carriage and helpers to meet 
our train, and started on again. At last we reached 
home. Our faithful Sara Stanton had a good sup- 
per ready, of which mother partook heartily. Soon 





THROUGH GRACE 


she retired to her own bed—safe at home. Sending 
for her ‘* beloved physician,” found he was absent 
in New York. From that very day she began to 
improve, and in a short time was as well as usual. 
Afterwards she told her peculiar experiences on 
that journey, and always closed with the assertion 
that she had to come then, if ever, alive. The 
incidents in this circumstance have been thus mi- 
nutely narrated to show the power of her faith,— 
how it led her—what strength it gave her— what 
courage—what endurance ;—and also to show how | 


God honors true, unquestioning faith. 


* * 


Pie 
1770 
1876 

This year of gladness to the nation, but of de- 
pressing loneliness to Uncle Isaac, led him to write, 
urging my mother again to go East and spend the 
summer with him. Accordingly several weeks of 
this memorable summer were spent with the remain- 
ing dear ones at ‘‘The Maples.” Other sii 
friends were there who will long remember that 
happy summer-time. Mother was the centering 
point of attraction in that lonely home, and heartily 


joined in every effort that was made to enhance the 


TO GLORY. 113 


pleasure of the several visitors. To all who partici- 
pated in the pleasures, the cares, and the joys of 
that summer it has its own memories, with which the 
- stranger cannot intermeddle.” 

While others were going daily, my mother made 
one visit to the Centennial Exposition, thoroughly 
enjoying a half day in the main building and in 
‘*Power Hall,” her own choice. A rolling-chair 
was obtained, and she was rolled from point to 
point, which she herself chose. She also greatly 
enjoyed two or three rides on the open cars run- 
ning around the inclosure of the park grounds. 
She remarked to a friend,-at whose house she was 
guest,—‘‘I have visited the Centennial, and have 
accomplished more than any other one who has 
Secmmimeaitendance.” . ‘‘ How is that?” asked her 
friend. ‘Well, I will tell thee;—I have spent half 
of one day there, and am perfectly satisfied,” she 
replied. And it was conceded by all that her state- 
ment was correct. What she most delighted in 
while making her self-restricted rides seemed to be 
the Corliss engine, as she had her chair again and 
again rolled in front of this massive and wonderful 
piece of machinery. 

During her stay at the home of her brother-in-law, 


IIl4 LHROUGH. GRACE 


she had the great happiness of seeing all the mem- 
bers of her own particular family, Uncle Isaac hav- 
ing invited them all to meet there,—three brothers 
and herself being the only survivors of that large 
family. They were George, who resided with her; 
Gibbons, living at the old homestead, near Zanes- 
ville; and Samuel, the youngest of the family, whose 
home was in Iowa. It was a great joy to her thus 
to meet and mingle for even a few days with her 
own dear brothers, whom she so seldom met and 
to whom she was devotedly attached. During these 
days of reunion, much interest and Christian solici- 
tude was shown on her part towards her brother 
Gibbons, the only one who was not a Christian. 
She talked freely and faithfully, though most affec- 
tionately, with him with regard to his eternal inter- 
ests, reminding him of the comforting fact that 
every member of the family had died in the faith of 
Jesus; that neither he nor herself could have many 
more years to live; that, unless he should be con- 
verted and lay hold of the hope in Christ which 
had sustained them in the hour of death, and which 
alone was her hope and support now, it would be 
impossible that they should spend their eternity to- 
gether, much as they loved each other here ether 





TO .GLORY. II5 


only a vital union in Christ Jesus could avail to 
make earthly loves and earthly companionships 
eternal;—only being established on the Rock of 
Ages—Christ Jesus—could make our happiness per- 
manent, and insure an eternity of bliss at God’s 
right hand. Her brother listened patiently — even 
kindly—but yielded not, relying simply on his own 
honest endeavors to obey the ‘‘ Golden Rule,” as he 
said. And so the matter rested for a time, with him 
at least; but not so with my mother. She never 
ceased to pray for that brother as long as she lived. 
She was unusually bright and cheerful all these 
summer days, entering into the interests of all about 
her, and finding herself able to direct, aid, and en- 
courage others, on whom the weight of care in this 
enlarged household rested. 

When the set time came to “ fold this cloth of 
gold,” she bade a cheerful adieu to these quiet days 
of leisure and freedom from care, and returned with 
renewed vigor to her duties and privileges, as she 
called the routine of her every-day home life. Then 
followed, as ever, the long winter, and the renewed 
sufferings which were nearly always her portion in 
this colder season of the year; but to those who 


were constantly with her she seemed to grow more 





116 THROUGH GRACE 


Se 


a 


and more into the likeness of Him’who had become — 
her ‘song in the house of her pilgrimage.” Es 


i. 


‘¢O that faith may win the vision < 
That she so early won, i 
And gaze upon the splendor, 
And own the cloudless sun, 
And join the seraphs’ song of love,. 
And sing,—‘ Thy will be done.’” 


* * i * 
Her Mrrthdays. 
6¢ She is at rest, 
In God’s own presence blest, 
Whom, while with us, this day we loved to greet ; 
Her birthdays Or, 
She counts the years no more: 


Time’s footfall is not heard along the golden street. 


‘¢ When we would raise 
A hymn of birthday praise, 
The music of our hearts is faint and low; 
Fear, doubt, and sin 
Make dissonance within, 


And pure soul-melody no child of earth may know. 


‘¢ That strange ‘ new song,’ 
Amid a white-robed throng, 
Is gushing from her harp in living tone ; 
Her seraph voice, 
Tuned only to rejoice, 


Floats upwards to the emerald-archéd throne. 


hs 


LOCGLOLSY, 


*¢ No passing cloud 
Her loveliness may shroud ; 
The beauty of her youth may never fade ; 
No line of care 


Her sealed brow may wear, 


The joy-gleam of her eye no dimness e’er may shade. 


‘¢ No stain is there 
Upon the robes they wear 
Within the gates of pearl which she hath passed ; 
Like woven light, 
All beautiful and bright, 


Eternity upon those robes no shade may cast. 


‘¢ No sin-born thought 
May in that home be wrought 
To trouble the clear fountain of her heart ; 
No tear, no sigh, 


No pain, no death, be nigh 


117 


Where she hath entered in, no more ‘ to know in part.’ 


‘¢ Her faith is sight, 
Her hope is full delight, 
The shadowy veil of time is rent in twain: 
-Her wonted bliss— 
What thought can follow this ?>— 


To her to live was Christ, to die indeed is gain. 


*¢ Fler eyes have seen 


The King, no veil between, 





118 | THROUGH GRACE 


In blood-dipped vesture gloriously arrayed : 
No earth-breathed haze 
Can dim that rapturous gaze ; 


She sees Him face to face on whom her guilt was laid. 


‘SA little while, 
And they whose loving smile 
Had melted ’neath the touch of lonely woe 
Shall reach her home 
Beyond the star-lit dome: 
Her anthem they shall swell, her joy they too shall 


know. 


As years were added to the life of this dear one, 
the interest deepened in the minds of those who 
were nearest to her, and in all those who loved 
her; and, as the rich light of the evening sun be- 
_comes more resplendent as it nears its setting, and 
throws backward its gorgeous coloring upon all 
the landscape, so, as she was nearing the end of 
her pilgrimage, the light she reflected upon other 
hearts, and upon all the wide landscape of her life, 
was ‘‘a duplicated golden glow” of the promised 
“light at evening time.” | 

Thus each succeeding year ripened into richer 
fruitage and to holier living, and she became, to 


those who loved her most, more and more their 


TO GLORY. 119 


incentive to ‘‘ go and do likewise,” and their inspira- 
tion to nobler attainments in the divine life. And 
this is why her birthdays became ‘ Red-letter days” 
in life’s calendar for all who lived and breathed in 
the atmosphere of her love and good-will. There 
was a natural timidity and sense of ill-desert in her 
which rather shrank from special notice at such 
times, but her ever ready desire to enter into the 
plans and joys of others led her to so far forget 
herself as often heartily to enter into and enjoy 
these festive occasions. They often proved to be 
opportunities of personal blessing to both the visited 
and the visitor. 

During the summer of 1875 my mother remained 
at home, and really enjoyed the quiet; and, though 
suffering was her portion, she was contented and 
happy. She was unable to get to meeting unless 
she could ride, and she was at last prevailed upon 
to have a carriage provided, which was done almost 
every meeting day. It was one of the joys of her 
being at home that she might thus constantly meet 
for quiet worship with the friends she loved so 
warmly. She never thought she had too much suf- 
fering, often saying, ‘‘I have not one pain too 


much.” She has said many times she would desire 


120 THROUGH GRACE 


to live, even in the midst of pain, if she might be 
used to advance the cause of Christ on earth. She 5 
one day said,—‘‘ Sarah, I would gladly live fifty 
years more, and suffer every pain I have ever had, — 
and endure all life’s sorrows over again, if I might 
help save one more soul.” God grant that she may 
so live again in these ‘Memory Sketches” that many 
souls may yet be saved through her influence and — 
through her yet unanswered prayers. 

Mother was mostly sick and suffering, but never 
remained in bed much; would insist on being up 


and dressed, ready for opportunities to do good, or 


to step into the carriage, if it was at the door in 


the proper time ;—but if not—if the way did not open 
—she was equally satisfied; not a murmur entered 
her thoughts, much less escaped the lips. To my 
mother, most emphatically, ‘‘ faith was the substance 
of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” 

It was during this summer that her birthdays 
became centering points of interest, for she had 
attained the advanced age of four-score years. This 
and the remaining ‘‘ mile-stones ” on life’s highway 
were celebrated in some sweet manner, and by spe- 
cial remembrances from dearly loved friends. This 


summer her friend Emily Sherwood thought it would 





LOPCLORY: I2I 


be very nice to have an informal gathering of the 
Friends to greet my mother on the approaching 
20th of 8th month. At the meeting on 5th day, 
which was the 19th, and which mother attended, 
the word was quietly passed from one to another 
that the following would be ‘*‘ Aunt Harriet’s ” birth- 
day, E. S. taking the responsibility of saying to 
the Friends that mother would be at home, and 
glad to see any who could call. Such was the 
only announcement, mother not being consulted at 
all, but in a state of blissful ignorance of all the 
good cheer that awaited her on the morrow. She 
retired to rest, and slept well during the night, and, 
as usual, arose early to receive congratulations from 
the family. Before breakfast the bell rang, and 
some lovely flowers were handed in, with congratu- 
lations, from Dr. David Judkins, who would call 
later—as he did. When she was ready for the 
morning meal, which she was unable to take with 
the family, it was sent to her on a new tray, with a 
complete set of fine china, a birthday remembrance 
from her daughter, accompanied by the following 


note and poem: 
Tuy BrirTHDAY, 8, 20, 1875. 
My Precious MotTuer :—If thou could know how grate- 
fully I greet thee on this joyful day, thou would not say I 


I22 





ought not to ee thee anything. From year to year I have 
not dared to hope thou would be spared to me for long, and 


now that thou hast lived to see thy four-score years, how 


can I but be glad and grateful. Please accept this little 
gift, with the copy of the poem which accidentally fell un- 
der my eye only yesterday, and I have adopted the senti-_ 
ments as expressive of our thoughts for thee to-day. If our 
Heavenly Father shall graciously add yet many years to thy - 
already prolonged life, I will thank Him, and joyfully do 
what I can to smooth all thy journey to life’s end. 

I earnestly pray that His blessed promises may sustain 
thee in thy future as in thy past, and that they may be so 
appropriated as to gild in bright and precious rays of God’s 
reconciled countenance thy pathway to the tomb; and at 
last may we rejoice together in the mansions of eternal rest 
and glory. 


Affectionately, thy “erateful daughter, 
SARAH. 


“Co My Mother, on Her Gightieth Hwthday. 


‘¢ Beloved and loving! could a crown 

Shed lustre on thy brow,— 

Could earthly diadem enrich 
The light that rests there now,— 

We’d bring to-day the offering 
And lay it at thy feet, 

And, with rejoicing voice and song, 
Thy kind acceptance greet. 

Too late! we fling the bauble down, 


For worthier hands than ours 


TO GLORY. $33 


Have twined about thy spirit’s brow 


Wreaths of immortal flowers. 


‘¢ Four-score to-day! And God’s right hand 
Supports thy footsteps still ; 
On bended knees, with thankful hearts, 
We praise His loving will. 
The river of thy life reflects 
A light above the earth ; 
In its pure depths it holds the pearl— 


The pearl of wondrous worth. 


*¢ And we, thy loved ones, day by day 
Have conned the lesson o’er— 
The lesson of a loving life, 
And the sweet fruit it bore. 
As little children, once again 
We cling about thy knee: 
Repeat the lessons of our youth, 
Lead us toward heaven with thee ; 
Impart the wisdom thou hast gained, 
And still, between each word, 
May loving praises of thy life 


From loving lips be heard. 


‘*Children (though some be missing now) 
Bring loving thoughts around ; 
May the good God send peaceful hours, 


And heavenly joys abound. 





















TAROOGT (GRACE 


May many years of life repeat 
This festival of love ; 
And may we meet, some glad, sweet day, 


In brighter realms above.” 


The day had but just begun. Soon as breakfast — ; 
was over, a lovely Parian vase of choice and deli- 
cate design was sent by George Dean, and a box of — 
beautiful cut flowers from his wife—both dear and 
valued friends. Meantime callers began to come ;— 
it is impossible to name them all, but each hour 
seemed to add to the dear mother’s enjoyment of 
fruits and flowers and friends, and the evening 
found her surrounded by some thirty-five or forty 
happy faces, reflecting the light of loving hearts. — q 
She herself seemed the happiest of all that happy 
group. A dear one who could not be present sent 


the following note, with some lovely roses: 


* 


95 E. LIBERTY STi, Sy 2000 75. a 

My Dear FRIEND HARRIET STEER:—As I cannot go 
with Samuel to see thee this evening, I must content myself __ 
with the pleasure of writing a few lines to express my warm 
love for thee, and the desire that our dear Heavenly Father, 
Who has led thee all thy life long to this eightieth anniver- 
sary of thy birth, may be increasingly thy joy and support. 
I know thy testimony is to-day, that not one thing of all 
that the Lord hath promised hath He failed to perform. 


FOLGELOR YO. 125 


ee TE A 


And, thinking of thee many times to-day, I have remem- — 
bered my own dear mother’s enjoyment of a visit to thee, as 
well as the seasons of refreshment thy visits have been to 
myself; and I do hope, if not too much of an exertion, thou 
will be able to spend a day with me this summer,—it is so 
precious to speak together of our Father’s love and good- 
ness, so strengthening and encouraging. We can both say 
with the Psalmist, ‘‘Surely goodness and mercy shall fol- 


P) 


low me all the days of my life;” and also these beautiful 


lines,— 


‘¢ F’en down to old age all My people shall prove 
My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love; 
And when hoary hair shall their temples adorn, 
Like lambs in My bosom they still shall be borne.” 


Hoping that the year thou enters on to-day may be one of 
the happiest of thy life, one in which our dear Saviour’s 
presence will be thy hourly joy, I remain, with much love 
to Sarah and thyself, 

Very affectionately, thy friend, 


Aer 

The bright eye, the unclouded intellect, the hgarty 
zest with which she received the congratulations of 
relatives and friends, all proved that Time had touch- 
ed her but lightly as he passed; she had seemed 
only to brighten with the lapse of years, and to grow 
lovelier with each day’s duty done. 

The following lines, written to celebrate the 
eighty-sixth birthday of Col. John Church, of Little 





Compton, R. I., and presented to my mother by ha 
son, John Church, Jr., are so appropriate to her zi, 
whose eightieth birthday we now celebrate, that ie 
feel sure Mr. Church will not object to its insertion v 









THROUGH GRACE 


TOE ee ee ipl 


‘6 He liveth long who liveth well, 
And in the tents of peace shall dwell ; 
If footsteps falter, eyes grow dim, 
The peace of God shall be with him. 


‘The peace of God be with thee, friend, 
And gently lead thee to the end, 
Crowned with the loves, the hopes, the praise, 


And honor of thy well spent days. 


‘¢ Believe it not that age is cold, 
But say ‘ The loved are never old!’ 
The lingering twilight of that time 


Is holier than our noonday prime. 


e‘*Oh! mellowed to a calm, well won, 
Descends thy slowly westering sun ! 
‘And, hovering on the brink of heaven, 


A rosier light to earth is given. 


“ Long be thy twilight, warm with love, 
And filled with radiance from above, 
Till in the golden dream of rest 
Thou say’st thy last days are thy best.” 


TO GLORY. 127 


The evening of that happy day closed with a pre- 
cious grouping of the dear ones about the Father’s 
throne, where each committed the other to the 
unslumbering care of the Good Shepherd; and 
supplications, with thanksgiving from loving hearts, 
entered into the ear of Him who stoops to listen to 
His children when they cry. Cheerful farewells 
were then spoken, and the company separated. It 
seemed a fitting occasion to be remembered and re- 
peated—as it was in different places—on the return 
of that glad anniversary day, of which there were 


not many more to follow. 
* * 
* * * 
** But side by side they flowed,— 
Two fountains flowing from one smitten heart, 
And both are sweet and calm, 
And flowers upon the banks of either blow; 
Both fertilize the soul, and where they flow 
Shed round them holy balm.” 

Thus the mingling fountains of sorrow and glad- 
ness had shed peace upon the heart of my uncle 
Heewa dew 4rom heaven. . In the year 1877 he 
was married to one very dear to us all, and who 
brought with her the rich dower of love and light, 
of comfort and peace, to the home and to the 


heart of Uncle Isaac, who had long been so deso- 





128 ! . THROUGH GRACE 


late, as well as to those who so often lingered in 
his house and called it home. ‘To my mother, 
especially, this union was a source of great joy, 
and she who had gone every year to comfort and 
sustain him in his desolation and his grief was now 
invited most pressingly to join the glad circle in 
the home which seemed again to echo with the 
melody of other years. Ever ready to ‘‘ weep with 
those who weep,” she now most gladly responded 
to the invitation to ‘‘ rejoice with those who rejoice.” 
So that season found her there, in her usual health. 
It was truly to her and all a*glad, bright summer, 
very restful to weary ones, the peace and joy reign- 
ing there being in such restful contrast to the lone- 
liness and gloom which had held sway for nearly 
three years. Not one of all the happy company 
who gathered there during that summer-time of 
‘living love”? seemed more to notice and enjoy the 
change than my mother, whose cup of earthly hap- 
piness was often replenished from the overflow of 
other lives. 

My uncle, and my aunt who was no stranger to 
us, but beloved for years, and whom mother now 
greeted as ‘*‘ Sister Mary,” desired to show their love 
for her in some special observance of her approach- 


TO GLORY. 129 


ing birthday. After much consultation, plans were 
adopted of which the following letter from my aunt 
will give a somewhat detailed account. That day, 
the place, the surroundings, the gathered friends, 
are memories to be cherished always. But the 
letter, written at my request, and just now received, 


will better tell of that lovely day and its celebration. 


West CuesTter, April 27, 1887. 

My Dear Saiz :—Thee asks me, as a tribute to thy 
mother’s precious memory, for some recollections of her 
birthday in the year 1877, at which time you both formed a 
part of our happy household at ‘‘ The Maples.” I may not 
be able to recall all the incidents of that day and evening, 
but some of them have left 'an impression on my mind, as 
well as on the minds of others who were present on the 
memorable occasion. 

To recognize this eventful day as should seem befitting 
had been the subject of both thought and discussion for days 
previous, though there had been no consultation with the 
dear one regarding it, as we well knew that, with her ac- 
customed unselfishness, she would discourage any demon- 
stration which might involve time or labor in her behalf. 
After perfecting arrangements, reminding her of the ap- 
proaching day, it was suggested that some of the relations 
and friends, who intended to make her presence with us the 
occasion for a visit, should be summoned in an informal 
way at that time; and to this her consent had been gained. 
Most of these were welcomed on the evening before the 
birthday, and it was a happy and cheerful company that 


eS Ee ee ne fe ee 
ee ye Te ay Ae oe ne re Tie ey | ee 
4 : = La Pay, | Mia) pe oy ee a = ne rv 


130 THROUGH GRACE 


Vimy OM Mee MN MO AE NN MM DO RY 


surrounded the breakfast table on the following morning. 
From the lips of dear “ Aunt Harriet” were uttered words 
of thanksgiving for (as she expressed it) unmerited mercies — 
and comforts of which she was the constant recipient, and 
eratitude for the joy of again mingling with so many loved | 
ones. 
Early in the day came a sister-in-law (her brother Enoch’s 
widow), and so engrossed was she in conversation with her 
as to be unmindful of the movements of the other members 
of the household, who were unitedly making preparations 
for the later hours of the day. A few friends had been in- 
vited to meet her socially at the evening hour.. Some of 
them, finding it impossible to do so, called during the day, 
offering congratulations, and bringing, as tokens of remem- 
brance, fruit and flowers. Just at the sunset hour we gath- 
ered in the dining-room for the evening meal, with us the 
invited guests. This was an especially social and happy 
hour. The most noticeable attraction upon the table was the 
birthday cake, surrounded with beautiful flowers and ever- 
green, tastefully arranged at a suitable space from the cake, 
and within this space, encircling the cake, were three cir- 
cles, one within the other, of eighty-two lighted candles, the 
number being representative of the years attained by ‘*‘Aunt 
Harriet,” as she was lovingly called by most of us. At the 
conclusion of the meal she was conducted to a seat in the 
parlor. On raising her eyes, she saw on the opposite wall, 
in letters of living green, the text which loving hands had 
wrought,—‘* At evening time it shall be light;” and in 
another place in the room—just above the arch over the 
door into her sleeping-room—in large figures, were the two 
dates, —‘‘ 1795 and 1877,”— these, also, in living green. The 
sight of evidences of affection induced some sober thoughts 





TO GLORY. 131 


UE CT Me Se nM 


and reflections, as well as some of joyousness. And as one 
after another of the company came in, and they grouped 
themselves around her and filled the room, a holy silence 
brooded over the bright and happy scene,—a silence soon 
broken by Friend Hannah Bean, who first spoke of the sun- 
set of that evening, which was almost unparalleled for gor- 
geousness of coloring, and had elicited from her and friends, 
in their approach to the house, exclamations of delight. 
This wonderful beauty of earth’s landscape was compared 
to life’s glorious sunset of our beloved one, whom all who 
knew honored and loved, and whose years of usefulness and 
devotion to the Master’s service made the sunset of her life 
bright. Her example as a faithful follower of the Lord was 
made the subject of address to all the company, the younger 
portion of it being especially exhorted to let their days be 
spent in doing the Lord’s work, that when life’s evening 
should overshadow them they might look forward to their 
eternal home with joy. 

Then words commemorative of the occasion were spoken 
by Friend Joel Bean, after which Aunt Harriet, in great 
tenderness, addressed all, referring to the goodness of God 
as manifested in His care of and love for her through a long 
life, and the assurance she had that His sustaining arm 
would uphold her until she should be called to exchange 
the earthly for the heavenly home, and _ closing with an ear- 
nest plea to each one—the youngest present—to be wholly 
the Lord’s servant, doing His will as it should be revealed. 
After a short interval of silence, Friend Hannah Bean, in 
supplication, besought the Lord’s blessing to rest upon the 
united household, praying that each heart bowing at the 
footstool might be filled with the peace that passeth all un- 
derstanding. And when, a few moments later, the social 





132 THROUGH GRACE 


EE TE 


greetings were resumed for a little time, it was to welcome 


~ some who had arrived during the sweet little religious ser- 


vice which had been enjoyed. And when at last the fare- 
well words were spoken, all felt they had, through the in- 


fluences of the day and evening, been brought to a closer 


communion with our Heavenly Father, and there were glad 
thanksgivings uttered for the privilege of participating in 
this happy event. | 

Very Hane ect have I given ‘this account of the bright 
summer’s day, but I trust to thy kind heart to excuse any 
omission or redundancy which may be discovered in it. 
May God help thee in the loving work in which thee is en- 
gaged, and make the ‘‘ Memory Sketches” recorded bh thee 
a blessing to all by whom they may be perused. 

Lovingly, thy friend, — | M. 


* * 
* * * 


‘* We know not what's before us, 
What trials are to come, 
But each day passing o’er us 
Brings us still nearer home.” 


In the fall of 1877, after returning from that rest- 
ful visit at ‘“‘The Maples,” where had been such 
pleasant meetings of loved ones, all unknowingly 
mingling for the last time, my Uncle George, the 
brother who had sat in the seat of honor at the table 
for so many years, was taken seriously ill from the 
effects of a neglected cold, which developed into 
pneumonia. ‘The disease never yielded to the rem- 


TO GLORY. 133 


edies used, and after an illness of just four weeks, 
involving untold suffering, he was mercifully re- 
leased from the infirmities of the flesh, and entered — 
into life eternal. He was graciously prepared for 
the great change, and permitted to leave an assur- 
ing testimony of his acceptance with God, through 
Christ Jesus our Lord. All through his illness my 
mother was confined to her room in another part of 
the house, only reaching his bedside twice. ‘This 
was greatly regretted by all, as the dear invalid 
sadly missed the comforting words which would 
have doubtless fallen from her dedicated hps. He 
died at early dawn on Sabbath morning, 11th mo., 
30, 1877. As mother was unable to attend the 
funeral, his body was not buried at once, but laid 
in a vault for a few weeks. When at last he was 
laid in the final resting-place, there was no special 
service at the grave, and no accompanying friends, 
but mother spoke very impressively to, and prayed 
earnéstly for, the kind men who had prepared the 
e@rave and so tenderly performed the last service 
for the dear departed one, reminding them of the 
time—and perhaps the nearing time for some—when 
such a service must be done for each of them, most 


earnestly supplicating for them all the needed. grace 


134 LTHKOCGHsGRACH 


for that steadily approaching hour. ‘There were 
three men, and one after another was seen to bow 
lower the head and wipe the tears from eyes not 
often used to weeping. After the work was done, 
one and another came to her to thank her for her 
interest, her words, and her prayer in their behalf; 
they had almost forgotten they had souls, so seldom 
were they thus remembered; but, as she talked per- 
sonally with them, they promised to remember her 
words, and try to be prepared for their change when 
it should come. And when, a few years later, one 
of the three performed a like service for this dear 
one who had prayed for them at the brother’s open 
grave, he said to the writer that he had never for- 
gotten her words nor his promise, and he hoped to 
meet her in heaven. One of the men had died, 
another had moved away from here, and only he re- 
mained of those whose lives had been blessed by her 


timely words. ‘‘A word in season—how good it is!” 


* * 
Li et * * 


In the autumn of the year 1878, when returning 
from the last visit to ‘‘ The Maples,” my mother 
had a most pleasant visit at the home of her 
dear cousins H. and E. B. Baily, while the little 
dwelling which was to be her home was being 





TO GLORY. i Meas 


prepared for her reception again. ‘There are: sweet 
memories of this visit—this home-coming — which 
are indelibly impressed upon the minds of those 
associated with them. ~They cannot be effaced; 
neither can they be spoken by tongue or pen so 
as to prove beneficial to any others. 

All who knew my mother well knew with what 
joy and comfort she became the occupant of the 
little home at 342 West Eighth street. It was gth 
bg@meeeweio76, that;she came. How vividly are 
even the smallest incidents of that coming impressed 
upon the mind. She came as one who had, after 
long wandering, at last found her home. She was 
joyously bright, and delighted with everything that 
had been prepared for her. ‘‘Just under the eaves 
of the sanctuary,” she said, ‘‘ where, if I am unable 
to go to meeting, I can see the friends gathering to 
to the house of God, and they can come in and see 
ieemone very often said, **The peace of God 
rests on our little home, and He abides with us.” 
She never wanted to remove from this home until 
carried to her last resting-place, and her desire was 
granted. She still took her usual summer journey 
and visits; still returned each autumn to make her 


annual pilgrimage to Richmond, Ind., to. attend her 





136 THROUGH GRACE cee - gi 


OU TOURER RGU Rt Ree SO RO 


beloved Yearly Meeting; but ever returned to Ream < 
home with joy, and always said on coming into 


it, ‘‘Oh! how precious this little home is!” 


For several years after this she greatly enjoyed 
the social gatherings of some of the friends, who 
came in after meeting on fifth days to partake with 
her of a cup of good tea and a simple lunch. But 
after a time she became too feeble and helpless for 
even so small an exertion as that, and then friends 
began to prepare a lunch at the meeting-house, so 
that when able to attend meeting she thus enjoyed 
the social intercourse there. All who participated 
in them will recall with what cheerful delight she 
mingled with her dear friends on these as on all 
other occasions, always having words of cheer for 
those who needed them, and speaking encouraging 
words of guidance to the little children, if any were 
present. She loved the children, and never seemed 
to forget how they need the nee loving counsel 
of older Christians. 

* as 
* * * 
“Where, where are all God’s lessons,— 
His teachings, dark or bright? 
. Not lost, but only hidden 
Till in eternal light 


We see, while at His feet we fall, 
The reasons and results of all.” 


- oa 


is = 
=) 


LOGLORY. P37 


Before the summer of another year dawned upon 
us, my Uncle Isaac was seized with an illness 
which ended his life, and left a bereaved household 
to mourn his unexpected death. This was another 
startling blow and shock to my dear mother ; but, 
feeling that the bitterness was not hers alone, she 
again went~East to cheer and comfort, if she might, 
the sorrow-stricken hearts that mourned. She did 
not fail in this mission of love to the sorrowing. She 
was permitted to ‘‘ comfort those who were in trouble 
by the comfort wherewith she herself was comforted 
of God.” It was a memorable time to her, and one 
to which she often referred as one of blessing to 
her own soul, in that she was used of God in bless- 
ing others. 

The memorable birthday passed with tender, 
grateful memories, but without special notice. 

Much of mother’s time in these summer visits was 
spent at the farm.rather than in the city, as the 
relatives and friends residing in Philadelphia were 
generally away from home at the season when 
mother was in the East. She frequently spent a 
week or ten days at Atlantic City, and at Burling- 
ton, with her dear friends, where she was always 


so cordially welcomed. But this summer of 1878 





138 THROUGH GRACE 


(ECU Ee ee 


was mostly spent in the quiet, restful seclusion she 
so much needed, and which she ever found in the 
sweet home at ‘*The Maples,” which had for so 
many years been her sanctuary from a crowded 


city’s heat and dust. 


* * * 


‘If at His gate He keeps thee waiting now 
Through many a suffering year, 
Watch for His daily ‘afterwards,’ and thou 
Shalt find them even here. 


‘« The ripe fruits of the Spirit thou shalt lay 
At thy Beloved’s feet,— 
The ripening clusters growing day by day 
More full and sweet.” 


The frequent chastenings of her Father’s hand, as 
she was passing through life’s disciplinary school, 
had seemed at times grievous, but the pledge of 
her blessed Saviour in Paul’s ‘‘ nevertheless after- 
wards” had been tested, and now the results were 
seen in her ‘‘ love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentle- 
ness, goodness, faith.” 

Again, about this time, my mother was suffering 
from the troublesome ankle, which was sometimes 
better, sometimes worse, but always causing more 


or less pain and great anxiety. An incident in this 


TO GLORY. 139 


connection again so forcibly illustrates the mighty in- 
fluence of faith upon her character, and her almost 
perfect acquiescence in the divine will, that it is 
recorded here to the glory of His name who sup- 
plied the grace which unfailingly led her 


“ Through duty, and through conflict too.” 


Some Christian friends desired to meet and join 
with her in prayer for the perfect healing of the 
diseased ankle. She believed in prayer and in a 
prayer-answering God, and was glad to join with 
them for this object. After a long spiritual talk, in 
which all freely expressed their views and convic- 
tions, my mother closed the conversation with these 
words: ‘‘I never claimed anything of my Heavenly 
Father, not even salvation, but gratefully accepted 
it as purchased for me; and to all my prayers I 
@versada these-words, “if: it be Thy will.’ And 
now, addressing the one who was to lead in prayer, 
she continued, ‘‘if thou asks anything for me, thou 
Pictesay, ‘not my will, but Thine, O Lord, be 
done.’” Accordingly all kneeled down, and one 
united, fervent prayer was offered, that, if it was 
in accord with the Lord’s will, the ankle might be 


restored, and this dear one relieved from pain and 





140 LHROCGCH- GRACE 


UE TUE SOs Me Be CUED TS et Ee 


| infirmity. It was a sweet and blessed season, where 


all felt the influence of the Holy Spirit, and that we _ 
had been drawn by Him very near to our Father’s _ 


throne, where we earnestly sought grace to help in 


our time of trouble. Before we rose from our knees, 
mother poured forth from a full heart a prayer of 
trust and thanksgiving, pleading for blessings, 
spiritual and temporal, upon the little company 
kneeling at the cross. Then they separated, each 
to her own home, but were to come again and 
again, asking for the faith which would command 
the blessing asked. } | 
Many precious talks were had with the dear one 


after the little company of two had departed. In 


the mean time there was a beautiful, calm light, as 
if reflected from the cross, and a submissive tender- 
ness as well, depicted in the countenance of this — 
precious sufferer; but the lame ankle did not get 
well, and one day, in dismay, the dear one discov- 
ered that the well ankle-was rapidly inflaming and 
becoming sore, and giving increasing pain. But to 
all impatient remarks and expressions of faltering 
faith in the efficacy of prayer, she said, —‘* My 
dear, I am so sorry to have thee feel so; I under- 


stand it all perfectly. Prayer has been answered, 





TO GLORY. I4I 


but it has not been in our way. Yes, I do under-. 
stand it all now; the answer comes to my own 


b) 


heart,—‘ My grace is sufficient for thee;’ and my 
heart sends back the response,—‘ Even so, Father, 
for so it seems good in Thy sight.’” And, being 
alone with me, she placed her dear hand in mine 
and said, with a look and voice of complete triumph 
and self-abnegation, —‘‘ Why, Sarah, I was just as 
happy when that well ankle became sore as I could 
possibly have been if the sore ankle-had been 
ieee ewell.’ ‘Well, my dearest mother,” I said, 
‘*that is a triumph of faith to which I have not yet 
attained ;” and I was completely overcome. ‘Tender, 
loving, pitying tears came into her eyes. ‘Then, 
bowing her head on her hand, she made an earnest 
prayer for me,—that trust in all God’s promises 
might be established, and that I might have a more 
faitha: ve ourelywcs: the 


blessing of her prayers is not yet exhausted.” 





perfect—even an overcoming 


* * 
“ * * 
‘With comfort that He never ceased to give 
She filled the emptied chalices of other lives ; 
And time and thought were thenceforth spent for Him 
Who loved her with His everlasting love.” 


For long years my mother had been most lovingly 





142 THROUGH GRACE 


associated with Mr. and Mrs. J. B. Trevor, who had 
from time to time cordially welcomed her to their 
hill-top home, where she always loved to be received 
by these friends—so dear, so tried, so true. Her 
affection for them was akin to that a mother feels 
for her children, and when going there felt that it 
was only to her other home that she was for a time 
to enjoy. It was her privilege frequently to be" 
there for weeks together, and enjoyed the feeling 
that she was counted as one of the family, not only 
by the united heads of that consecrated household, 
but by their precious children, the dear invalid sis- 
ter, and the good and faithful servants, who minis- 
tered so largely to her comfort when there. These 
seasons were indeed times of refreshing to both body 
and mind. In times of joy she was welcomed to 
complete and sanctify that joy; and not only then, 
but when the keen edge of sorrow and woe was 
piercing their souls, she was summoned to stand 
by their side, to lift up-for them the Cry sisss9ce 
that He would let the cup of sorrow, which was 
so bitter, pass from them; and in her prayer to 
weave the oft-repeated plea of ‘‘ nevertheless, 
Father, not our wills, but Thine, be done.” But 
the dreaded blow was not to be averted, and the 





TO GLORY. 143 


Wise and loving Father took a little one from their 
embrace. 


'** The Master came Himself, and gently took 
The little hand in His, and gave it room 
‘Among the angel harpers.” 


And into this bitterest of earthly sorrow my mother 
closely walked with them, for she knew grief itself 
by name, and by its nature too, and she was thus 
peculiarly fitted to minister sympathy and consola- 
tion in this hour of their soul’s agony. Ever after 
this sad event in their history my mother’s life 
seemed more than ever linked to theirs, and she 
prayed much for them, that in His own time the 
Holy Comforter would speak to their hearts that 
Which it would be impossible for human lips or lives 
to tell—of ‘‘the oil and the wine” of a divine con- 
solation, which alone could heal their broken hearts 
and teach them to ‘‘lean hard” upon Him who 
‘*wounds but to heal,” and that they might be 
brought by memories of this darling boy into a closer 
walk with God. And thus my mother often prayed 
for them, and lived to know that they had indeed 
bowed their spirits in humble submission and a ten- 
der resignation to the will of Heaven in this bereave- 


ment. 


144 THROUGH GRACE 


The following little poem was written, not for this 
occasion especially, but by a mother who had her- 
self drank of the same cup of sorrow, and which 
my mother had intended sometime, when the dear, 
sorrowing friend could bear it, tov send stoma. 
but the time came not, though she often read it, 
and thought it would be a comfort to them in their 
sorrow. It was found among some of her papers, 
marked ‘For J. E. T.,” and is recorded in these 
‘«sketches” from her life, in her names = ERewpicame 
may now appropriately have the two-fold mission 
of presenting in memory’s mirror not alone the 
cherub boy, but the aged saint as well, in perfect 
beauty of contrast, together, hand in hand, as they 
were sometimes seen walking here,—now treading 


the fields of light and glory in the midst of imper- 


ishable flowers, even the types of which they both 


so loved while they were on earth; they loved each 
other then, they are doubtless together in glory 
now. In my mother’s name, then, the lines are 
repeated here, in the hope that they may bring 
sweet comfort to all the hearts who so sadly miss 


‘¢ little John,” your angel boy. 


‘¢ Oft in clouds a picture— 


A beautiful picture—I see, 






TO GLORY. 145 


Re sim CTU ee Ce 


Of hands that have long been folded— 


Folded away from me. 


‘¢' Through clouds that are glad with sunshine, 
Through clouds that are dark, I see 
Those same little folded hands 


Ever beckoning to me. 


*« The picture is ever before me, 
Whether awake or in dreams, 
Beckoning onward and upward,— 


Ever upward, it seems. 


*¢ And I feel with each day’s burdens— 
Burdens oft heavy to bear— 
That beyond the clouds and the sunshine 


That picture still is there. 


‘No! ’tis not the beautiful picture, 
*T is the darling himself, made fair,— 
_ So fair,—with the Saviour’s presence 


Shining everywhere. 


‘¢ And when I am sad and weary, 
Weary with each day’s care, 
I will think of the waiting angel, 


Waiting, beckoning, there. 


‘¢Oh! my beautiful blue-eyed darling! 
Will you still, when I come to be 
At the golden gate up yonder, 


Be beckoning to me?” 


A few years before life’s close, mother had suf- 
fered from a severe attack of illness, and, when 
sufficiently recovered to make the change, was taken 
to her ‘‘ dear Mt. Auburn home,” as she called that 
of Mr. and Mrs. Trevor; but soon after reaching 
there she was again attacked with an illness which 
developed into acute pneumonia. She was alarm- 
ingly ill, and, when her physician first saw her, he 
thought she could not recover. 

Nothing could’ exceed the kindnesses bestowed 
upon her at that time by the dear friends in whose 
home she was taken ill, and where she would most 
likely die. But the prompt remedies, the absence of 
the least friction on the part of the patient, and, above 
all, the blessing of God upon the means used, 
together brought her safe back to life and health 
_ once more. Both mother and daughter appreciated 
the whole-hearted kindnesses received during the 
long stay there, for her convalescence was slow. She 
said, ‘* This is laying up treasure in heaven; this is a 


display of unmerited love which I can never repay ; 





TO GLORY. 147 


but the Comforter shall whisper to their hearts His 
sweet ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the 
ie@ersOr these, ye have done it unto Me.’” As 
mother had expressed a desire to see once more the 
brothers whom she had met at the Centennial, they 
were sent for, and came while she was yet too ill to 
see them; they also were entertained in this wide- 
hearted home. When mother was sufficiently strong 
to bear the removal, she was taken to her city home, 
as she was anxious to be in her own house before the 
brothers left for their widely separated destinations. 
She gained rapidly after coming to the city, and was 
soon able to enjoy their visit, which was continued 
somewhat longer than they intended. Here in her 
own home my mother renewed the conversation so 
unsatisfactorily dropped-in the Centennial year—the 
solemn question of the salvation of her brother Gib- 
bons. She found him in much the same state of 
mind, but there was a certain something in all he 
said which led her to feel he was resisting very 
earnest convictions of the Holy Spirit. After the visit 
ended and the farewell words had been spoken, not 
as usual with cheerful hope, but in silence and 
in tears from all our eyes, my mother continued 


much exercised in her mind about ‘‘Gibbons,” 


148 THROUGH GRACE 


as she called him. So- great was this anxiety, 
that it was feared her own strength and _ health 
were being injured, and she was earnestly exhorted 
to give up this anxiety, which seemed undue, 
as the Saviour must be more concerned for his 
salvation than she could be; and would she not just 
bring him to the Lord in the arms of her faith, and 
leave him there, and rest from this wearing anxiety 
about his final salvation? She listened to all that was 
said, and then, with a deep solemnity and great 
deliberation, as if weighing the import of every word 
uttered, she said, ‘‘Sarah, I must agonize in prayer 
for that brother as long as I live, and have the 
control of my mind.” Her whole aspect and manner 
rendered further remark unnecessary. The health 
of Uncle Gibbons was rapidly declining, and dear 
mother also growing more feeble. A number of 
letters were written as she dictated, and answers 
received. She was thorough and faithful, yet 
compassionately tender in all her questionings and 
remarks. After a while a return letter held words » 
like these: ‘* Tell sister Harriet that I now see that 
there 1s no hope out of Christ.”, Poa sapere 
thought this seemed satisfactory : now surely mother 


will take comfort and rest. Being appealed to, she 





TO GLORY. 149 


said, ‘*It is an advance, but he is not on safe ground ; 
he does not say he has that hope as an anchor to his 
jieeohe dictated another letter: ‘‘I long to 
know, my dear brother, it thou hast accepted for 
thyself that hope of mercy which is in Christ Jesus? 

meeare thy feet planted on the Rock of Ages? 
Nothing short of a faith like this can save thy soul. 
All other ground is sinking sand.” The letter was 
sent: answer came not speedily. Months rolled on 
into years, and still her prayers continued to ascend, 
until at last—yes, at last—a letter came bearing this 
message from Uncle Gibbons: ‘‘ Tell sister Harriet 
that I have accepted her Saviour. I have the hope in 
Christ of which she told me. My feet are at last 
fixed on the Rock where hers have so long rested.” 
This was glorious news; but, alas! it came too late 
to comfort the heart of the precious, faithful sister 
who had prayed for him for years. The mental 
forces were broken: she no longer held control of 


her thinking powers. 
* * 
* * * 


‘“¢ Dear is my wealth of love, from many and valued friends,— 
Best of the earthly gifts, that a bounteous Father sends ; 
Pleasant the counsels sweet and the interchange of thought ; 
Pleasant the twilight hour, friendship and brightness fraught. ”’ 


150 THROUGH GRACE 


In the summer of 1880 my precious mother made 
her last visit East. The pen almost falters, and eyes 
are dimmed with tears, as that word ‘‘last” is 
recorded. And although the word be sad while it is 
looked upon as the light of memory shines upon it 
from the standpoint of the Now, yet it was neverthe- 
less a visit full of happiness then, and of restful 
communings with loved ones of other days and 
other scenes. Love was a crowning grace in my 


? 


mother’s character, ‘‘a diadem of beauty,” shining 
out from her whole life and living. She was always 
glad in the love she received from friends, but 
supremely happy in the ability to love them in return 
with a love which but few bestow upon others; and 
this reciprocity of affection seemed an antidote to old 
age: the ‘‘loved and the loving” never grow old, 
never ! 

The first part of this visit was to her very near and 
dear niece, who has been mentioned in the earlier 
pages of these ‘‘ Sketches, ” the only daughter of her 
only sister, and the tie which united them was one of 
tenderness and affection ; her husband, also, and their 
three daughters, were charming to my mother. She 
always felt at home, so warmly was she welcomed 


there, and with such a heartsome gladness as was 





GOLCLORY. 151 


very winning to one of her temperament. She had 
for her friends a measure of the love which Jean 
Ingelow so sweetly expresses,— 
‘*T love thee to the level of every day’s 
Most quiet needs.” 

foeeeetaus she went forth in this visit to greet 
her relatives and friends, and to be greeted by them, 
in this spirit so attractive to kindred hearts. She 
Was no unwelcome guest anywhere, for she carried 
‘sunshine into hearts and homes alike. ‘Time would 
fail to name all the dear ones whom she visited. It 
was wonderful, the opened doors into which she 
entered—nieces, nephews, cousins, friends. One of 
her homes in Philadelphia was at the house of her 
Megeecouciis Geo. Hi. and R. C. Here she was 
delighted to be also, and had often been welcom- 
ed and lovingly ministered to. Often has she been 
Mearasto express the regret that she could only 
be the receiver of benefits, without the power to 
bestow like favors upon others. But her grateful 
and appreciative heart accepted every favor as a 
“perfect gift,” not only from the earthly friend, but 
also as coming down ‘‘from the Father of lights, in 
whom is no variableness, neither shadow of turning.” 


Among the many pleasant visits of this memora- 


152 THROUGH GRACE 


ble summer was the one where she was so joyously 
received into the new home, but with the old love, 
of her cherished friend P. E. C., the loved and 
lovely one who had for many years cheered my 
mother on her way, and to whom she was linked 
by ties of precious memories, as well as of true 
religious fellowship. ‘The reunion was such a one 
as can never be forgotten. Dear P. E. C. and her 
happy husband were in their quiet country home, to 
which she had given the appropriate name of ‘‘ Sun- 


) 


set Haven ;” and truly it was a haven, upon which 


rested continually a brigher glow than ever earthly 
sunset gave, even the pure and steady light which 
was reflected from her own sweet presence, in which 
she let the light of love and joy and peace fall upon 
all around her, so that it seemed more like to heaven 
than most earthly homes do. In the peculiar atmos- 
phere of this home mother was very happy. The 
visit lasted several days, and truly sweet was the 
‘‘interchange of thought,” and nothing could exceed 
the kind ministrations of this dear one and her happy 
husband. When at last the parting time came, Phebe 
placed in mother’s hand a little gift of loving care and 
affection, accompanied with the following lines and 


the scripture quotations,— 





TO GLORY. 153 


CP Me OE Se Me Me RO A Re Te Mn . 


‘* He will keep the feet of his saints.” 
‘¢Even to old age, Iam He; and even to hoar hairs I will carry you.” 


Go Dear “Aunt Harriet,” 
FROM P. E. C,. 


‘¢ God bless thee, aged Christian, 
And speed thee on thy way ; 
Beam brightly on the closing 
Of thy dedicated day. 
The shades of eve are lengthening, 
But clear those shadows fall, 
No cloud on thy horizon, 


No darkness to appal. 


‘¢ Thou hast nobly borne thy burden 
In the vineyard of thy Lord ; 
And the new wine of the Kingdom 
Will be thy.rich reward. 
Thy tent of earthly pilgrimage 
A ruined heap shall be ; 
But above are many mansions, 


And there is one for thee. 


‘¢ Then faint not, aged pilgrim! 
Still upward turn thine eye, 
And read, through beauteous vistas, 


Thy title to the sky ; 


which had existed for so long between these two; 


By THROUGH GRACE 


But these are feeble glimpses, ~ 
Unworthy to compare : 

With the bright unbounded rapture 
That shall shine around thee there. 


‘*¢ All heaven shall ring with jubilee: 
The whole celestial choir, 
Exultingly, triumphantly, 
Shall strike the golden lyre ; 
And angel to archangel 
Shall with melody respond, 
To greet thy sainted spirit 
When it bursts the mortal bond.” 








This minute account has been dwelt upon at length 
because of the peculiarly near and dear affection 


and also because only a few short months ago this 
friend, so beloved and so needed in her home circle 
and in the world, heard the call she was so well 
prepared to hear, yes,— 


‘‘At last, the gentle tone was heard that falls 
In all mysterious sweetness on the ear 
That long has listened—without fear ; 
* * # # * 
‘¢* Friend, come up higher!’ So she took that night 
The one grand step, beyond the stars of God, 
Into the splendor, shadowless and broad, 
Into the everlasting joy and light. 


TO GLORY. 155 


TO A 


The zenith of the earthly life was come: 
What marvel that the lips were for a moment dumb?” 


And as my mother pursued her journeyings and 
her visits, her steps seemed led from brightness unto 
brightness all through this summer. When the stay 
at ‘* Sunset Haven” could be no longer prolonged, 
the parting hand was given, and a cheerful hope 
Sepresscad for the next meeting, little deeming it 
would be amid so much of brightness. 

The next visit was at Burlington, where many 
times before my mother had been welcomed. Again 
was she met and greeted as ever, and the friends 
never seemed weary of ministering to the necessities 
of my mother. She spent another quiet week there, 
not going about much, but able to see all who called. 
She was twice privileged to sit with her dear H. T. 
a little while, who, though very feeble, was able to 
give a glad welcome to my mother. Her sweet, quiet, 
expressive welcome was something to be desired and 
remembered. Here, again, one is reminded of the 
heavenly paradise by the earthly home of beauty and 
of peace. ‘‘ What a lovely place to go to heaven 
from.” Returning to Philadelphia, she rested a short 
time. Though it did not weary her to travel, yet the 


constant visiting and being visited did; and she was 


156 THROUGH GRACE 


kept quite still until she went to West Chester, which 
she did on the 22d of 8th mo. 

There was cause for a touch of sadness in this visit. 
There had been changes: the loved home at ‘«The 
Maples” had gone into other hands, but she was wel- 
comed into the new home on East Washington street, 
—a consecrated, precious place it was,—where aunt 
Mary, with her sister Anna, from New Bedford, had 
made ahome. This visit was not very long, but full 
of good cheer and heavenly sweetness. All hearts 
seemed comforted in being together. . 

On the return westward she stopped for a short 
time at the home of her dear relatives, S. C. and 
D.S. Howell, where she was most cordially received, 
and delighted to greet, for the first time, the dear 
little one that bore her name,—then only about three 
months old. Mother really enjoyed this sweet babe, 
and was both surprised and pleased with the compli- 
ment to herself in the name; and their affection for 
each other, which grew with the growth of this dear 
child, was something quite remarkable. 

The autumn found her well and bright and happy, 
and at her Cincinnati home again. ‘Those about her 
realized, as she did not, her onward progress in the 


path that was to ‘‘ grow brighter and brighter ;” but 





TO GLORY. 157 


the day, the perfect day, the dawn which should 
never know another night, was not yet come: the 
watchman’s cry still was, ‘‘ The morning cometh, and 
also the night.” 
x * * 
“Through the trackless year before me, 
Holy One, with me abide! 


Teach me, comfort me, and calm me, 
Be my ever-present Guide.” 


In the spring of 1881 she again spent a few weeks 
at Mt. Auburn, taking with her the ee chair. 
She greatly enjoyed the freshness and beauty of 
nature, as the trees were robing themselves in their 
spring colors. She would sit for hours in her chair 
on the broad veranda, drinking in the beauty all 
around her, which filled all her soul with grateful joy. 
She often said, ‘‘ Well, I have lived to see these trees 
once more decked in living green.” Many dear ones 
called to see her, and it was her delight on such 
occasions to speak the ‘‘ word in season,” which 
was in some sweet way ever dropping from her 
lips. In the summer, after the visit at Mt. Auburn 
closed, she went to Cos. S. and D. Howell’s, at 
Selma, once more to greet the little namesake she 


had seen but once, and enjoy the hearty welcome 


158 THROUGH GRACE 


of these dear relatives. Mother was not without her 
constant accompaniment of pain, but was generally so 
borne above it as to be able to go to meeting; so that 
the little company who were accustomed to gather 
there for worship began to regard her as a mother 
indeed who had come to visit her children. ‘The 
morning of mother’s birthday, which could not be for- 
gotten now, came; and on giving.my usual greeting, 
and wishing her joy, she said, ‘‘ Why, so this is my 
eighty-sixth birthday, and I am so glad Cos. Deborah 
has not done anything about it—has she?”—looking 
so earnestly into my face that I had to tell her 
that I believed Elijah and Mary Thorne were to drive 
over to call upon her, and also told her I had no 
doubt others would call, as Friends generally knew 
that it was her birthday. She seemed satisfied with 
this, and said she would be glad to see them: they 
were all very kind to come. She had a restful morn- 
ing, and when in the afternoon carriages began to 
arrive she was all ready to be greeted. After all 
were in and seated in the sitting-room, cousin D. came 
for us, and, as walking was a very painful effort: for 
her, I drew her out into the sitting-room in the large 
rocking-chair in which she sat. She was surprised, 
indeed, to find herself surrounded by thirty-five dear 





aco Ve I59 


friends, whose greetings and congratulations were 
very cordial to the warm, responsive heart of my 
dearest mother; and of all that rejoicing group she 
seemed the happiest of the happy. An elegant re- 
past, most of which the dear friends had brought with 
them, was served on the long porch, where most of 
them could be seated; but mother, with a few dear 
ones to bear her company, had theirs served in the 
sitting-room. It was.a joyous feast, of which all par- 
took with feelings of gratitude in their hearts. Some 
children were present, and were not overlooked by 
my mother, who always greatly enjoyed the company 
of the young. It was on this day, too, that little 
Harriet Steer Howell took her first step alone! She 
had been walking by chairs and props for some time, 
but on this birthday of her ‘‘ Aunt Harriet” this little 
one asserted her independence of chairs and apron- 
strings. The evening shades advancing, friends 
were reminded of the miles which lay between them 
and their homes; and they who had given so much 
pleasure to my mother parted from her,—some of 
them never to seé her again until together they stand 
where there will be no more parting, in that ‘‘land 
of pure delight” where the inhabitant shall never 


Bay... b amy sick.” 


160 THROUGH GRACE 


Se 





And thus the summer ended, and the season of 
return to the city home came, and she again took 
up the routine of her busy life gladly, and was 
among her own people. 


* * 
* * * 
‘¢ Our life moves on: 


There is no pause in its perpetual tread.” 

Autumn passed into winter and winter into spring, 
and thus the steady procession of the days and 
months as they march on brings this dear saint 
to the summer-time of another year, when she de- 
cided for herself that she was not able to go East 
again at the earnest solicitation of her numerous 
friends there, saying that at her time of life she 
preferred to be nearer her own home, alluding to a 
fear that she at times felt lest she should be away 
from here at the time of her death. She therefore 
most thankfully accepted a very kind invitation from 
Cousins Samuel and Anna Richie to spend the 
season with them in their delightful home at « Burr 
Oaks,” near New Paris, Ohio. She went sometime 
in the month of July. This was a lovely rest in 
the ‘‘road of life” for her, and everything that a 
self-sacrificing love could devise was done by those 


dear cousins to make the sojourn in every way 


TO-GLOR F. 161 


pleasant and improving to mother. She never 
seemed to enjoy herself more anywhere, and said, 
—‘* We are in the right place, and what could be 
more satisfactory than such an assurance.” ‘The dear 
cousins in that consecrated home seemed so glad 
to have ‘‘ Aunt Harriet” with them, and the social 
and religious joys of that quiet, restful summer were 
not a few. 

The birthday of this cherished and honored mother 
occurred on the Sabbath day that year, and, as 
mother was unable to attend meeting, she and I 
had the morning alone, spending it in sweet per- 
sonal intercourse, which was so soon to end. She 
took my hand in hers, as she had done many 
times before when we had been left by all others, | 
saying, ‘‘ We never tire of. each. other, do we?” 
and, with a smile of love which only she could 
give, added, ‘‘I have all the world when I have 
ere. the tie that: bound us to each other 
was both tender and mighty. 


‘* For death 
Has only parted us a little while, 
And has not severed e’en the finest strand 
In the eternal cable of our love: 
The very strain has twined it closer still, 
And added strength.” 


162 THROUGH GRACE 


On second day, the 21st, she was able to accept 
an urgent invitation to the home of her great-niece 
Hannah White, who, with her husband, had desired 
to commemorate the birthday of this aunt by invit- 
ing all the relatives who could be reached. Mother 
was anxious for this meeting with loved ones she 
had not seen for long, and accordingly rode over 
to Cousin Joseph White’s in the morning, the dear 
ones from ‘Burr Oaks” of course accompanying 
her. There was quite a large company of cousins 
and cousins’ children who assembled at this bright 
and happy home to greet ‘‘ Aunt Harriet,” ‘* Great- 
aunt Harriet,” and Great-great-aunt Harriet.” It 
was one of dear mother’s feeble days, when perhaps 
she would better have been quiet at home; but she 
knew she could never again meet them all together, 
so that will-power of hers, ever earnest to ‘‘do good 
to all as she had opportunity,” and to exchange 
loving words with loving friends, surmounted many 
difficulties; and thus she was there in the midst of 
this large circle of those who loved her, and who 
were in return loved by her. -It was a day not to 
be forgotten,—a day of almost heavenly enjoyment, 
—and yet so full of earthly solicitude to those who 
had the special care of her and realized just how 





TO GLORY. 163 


feeble she was in body. Yet so entirely did dear 
mother ‘‘ mind the things of the Spirit,” that she rose 
above the ‘‘ bodily sense,” and was cheerful and talk- 
ative. She had a sweet -little personal interview 
with each one present, she occupying an easy 
chair, with the painful ankle made as comfortable 
as it could be on the ‘‘rest,” which was taken 
wherever she went, then one by one drawing close 
to her side and having this little separate talk with 
the honored loved one, the conversation only occa- 
sionally becoming general and again assuming the 
individual form; and this was desirable, as mother 
was too feeble for much exertion of her conversa- 
tional powers. At an earlier hour than had been 
planned Cousins Samuel and Anna decided that 
mother must go home, and a reluctant consent was 
gained from the dear cousins at whose house we 
were enjoying so much with the assembled friends. 
The inevitable farewells were spoken, and the re- 
union of her last birthday on earth was closed,—but 
with no deep sadness, for there was such a loving, 
fervent hope expressed of soon meeting where 
‘‘affection’s cup has lost the taste of tears,” that 
the sting of the parting hour was extracted by the 
triumphing faith in the ‘*‘ Grace that leads to glory.” 


164 THROUGH GRACE 


Te Te Oe 





A letter from mother’s friend Emily Sherwood, 
whom she loved and prized, is inserted here, which 
shows that other dear ones were thinking of her 
with loving thoughts. The Cincinnati friends had 


not forgotten her on this anniversary day. 


Newport, Ky., 8th mo., 20, 1882. 

DEAR AuNT HARRIET :—Surrounded as thee is sure to 
be to-day by loving friends, and listening to warm greetings 
and hearty congratulations, I knew there would be yet an 
unfilled space in thy cup of happiness if thy Cincinnati 
friends should fail to think of thee; and so I thought I 
would tell thee how lovingly thy name was spoken to-day 
—with what thankfulness—that thee is spared to complete 
another year, with wishes that it might be the dear Father’s 
will to grant thee many more years of health and peace on 
this side of the river. 


Then followed lists of names, with ‘‘ Love” from 
one, ‘*‘ Loving congratulations,” ‘*‘ Best wishes,” 
‘¢’Tell her we often think of her,” ‘* Kindest re- 
gards,” and many others. These messages with 
names attached, and the newsy, chatty letter, were 
all very acceptable to mother, and were fully appre- 
ciated. ‘The letter closes thus: 


Our meeting to-day was small, but it was very good. 
Soon after we sat down, a strange lady prayed; several 
spoke, among the number William Mitchell—spoke on the 
Saviour’s washing the disciples’ feet, etc. 


TO GLORY. 165 


CCC ee 


Love to you both, hoping soon to see you; and wishing 
thee peace and joy through all the remaining days of thy 
pilgrimage, 

I am, very affectionately, thy friend, 


EooN aoe 
* * 
* * * 

In the autumn of 1882 mother was able, as usual, 
to attend the Yearly Meeting at Richmond, Iowa; 
but, though bright and active in mind, and able to 
receive and bestow much comfort by thus mingling 
with her dear friends, there was yet a feebleness 
of expression in all her movements, which she, as 
well as loved ones about her, recognized as the 
beginning of the end.” At the closing sitting of the 
meeting my mother rose to her feet, and, with great 
strength and firmness of voice and manner, spoke 
of the uncertainty she felt of ever again mingling 
with them in that capacity, but added, in substance, 
that as ‘‘ secret things: belong only to God,” she 
felt great peace in leaving it all to Him, and pro- 
nounced a tender benediction on all those upon 
whose shoulders must for a time rest the respon- 
sibilities and the burdens of Society affairs; and 
before she closed, in the deep quiet of those wait- 
ing moments, she spoke the solemn farewell which 


many said afterward seemed to be the last: and so 





166 THROUGH GRACE 


it proved. Her work was not all done, however ; 
her cup of suffering was not quite full. But her 
mind soared far above and beyond the weakness 
and the pain, and she yet prayed to be used as 
long as she should live in the great work of saving 
the souls of those for whom Christ died. 

In her work-basket, which was ever at her side, 
lay a bit of paper, which she often took up and 
read and reread from it; then, with tear-dimmed 
eyes, would replace it in her basket and resume_ 
her work, or, as was frequently the case, bow her 
head in silent prayer. She was much in this silence 
before the Lord, and had great nearness of access 
to the throne of Grace; and then, not to nullify her 
own prayer—nay, more—positively to become the 
instrument in God’s hand to work out their answer, 
she omitted no personal eftort—lost no opportunity 
—to speak a word to any whom she could by any 
possibility reach. She knew she of herself could - 
do no good to any one, except it were given her 
of God, and so she learned the value of obedience 
to the divine command to ‘‘ pray without ceasing.” 
The little poem in her workbasket, which she so 
often read, embodied this constant prayer of her 
asking heart, and is recorded here for the benefit 





TO GLORY. 167 


of some who want to do service for the Master, 
and yet may not have seen or embodied its words 
in their thought. It was my mother’s motto, and 
her guaranty of successful work. It is from the 
gifted and consecrated pen of Frances Ridley Hav- 
ergal, and is entitled,— 


“Obe Worker's Praper. 


‘¢ Lord, speak to me, that I may speak 
In living echoes of Thy tone: 
As thou hast sought, so let me seek 


Thy erring children—lost and lone. 


*¢ Oh! lead me, Lord, that I may lead 
The wandering and the wavering feet : 
Oh! feed’ me, Lord, that I may feed 


Thy hungering ones with manna sweet. 


‘¢ Oh! strengthen me, that while I stand 
Firm on the Rock, and strong in Thee, 
I may stretch out a loving hand 


To wrestlers on a troubled sea. 


'-Oh! teach me, Lord, that I may teach 
The precious things Thou dost impart ; 
And wing my words, that they may reach 


The hidden depths of many a heart. 


= EO eee ORE 


168 





‘¢Oh! give Thine own sweet rest to me, 
That I may speak with soothing power 
A word in season, as for Thee, 


To weary hearts in needful hour. 


'*¢ Qh! fill me with thy fulness, Lord, 
Until my very heart o’erflow 
In kindling thought and glowing word,— 
Thy love to tell, Thy praise to show. 


‘¢Oh! use me, Lord, use even me, 
Just as thou wilt, and when, and —— 
Until Thy blessed face I see,— 
Thy rest, Thy joy, Thy glory share.” 


She did accomplish a great deal of Christian work 
this year—did not give up at all—but kept most 
thoroughly alive and interested in all the concerns 
of this life; was cheerful and buoyant and uplifting, 
often helping the writer up to the point of actual 
enthusiasm when worn and weary, and a little 
‘‘discouraged because of the way.” Returning 
from the work of the day, she would be ‘‘ looking 
out” for me, and, with her sunny greeting and a 
sympathetic recognition of the burdens that had 
been borne, she would, by this tenderness of love, 
dispel all fatigue and unrest, and in a few minutes 


TO GLORY. 169 


would be either reading aloud some lovely thing 
that had come under her eye, or talking cheerfully 
of that which had occupied her during her hours 
of aloneness. On being asked if she had wanted 
for anything, or if the time had seemed long and 
wearisome while keeping her day-long lonely vigils, 
she always loooked the picture of full content and 
Hapomess as she replied, ‘‘Oh! no indeed; the 
day has not seemed long at all, and the Lord has 
made me so happy that I have not wanted for any- 
thing.” But she would add, ‘I have thought of 
thee a great deal, and prayed that thee might get 
along nicely in school.” Oh! those sustaining 
prayers—how they are missed! and that cheerful 
welcome whenever I came into the house,—‘‘ Bless 
Mieeiteattr . It requires Grace and the special 
enablings of the Holy Spirit to feel that I must be 
without them for the remainder of my journey, be 
it ever so short; but I want to trust for the Grace 
-which was ‘“ sufficient” for her. 

She was often too sick to be left alone, but, after 
providing everything she could possibly want, she 
was left thus, cheerfully saying the daily adieus. 
One day, on returning a little earlier than usual, 


the precious one, who had been alone all the morn- 


7 THROUGH GRACE 


ing, was found sitting in her easy chair, with her 
watch open and lying on her hand, her head rest- 
ing on the back of the chair, and she fast asleep. 
Standing quietly by her side for only a moment, she 
opened her eyes, and the satisfied smile she always 
wore when her ‘*‘ prop” was come illumined her face 
as she said, ‘‘Oh! thee has come.” Being asked 
‘‘What is thee doing with thy watch, mother?” she 
answered quickly, and with a twinkle of merriment 
in her eye, ‘‘ Watching for thee.” Shemoi mec 
she took care of herself while I was absent, but 
when I returned her cares and burdens rolled off; 
—so we grew nearer and tenderer and dearer to 
each other with every day of life together. 

Soon after her return from Yearly Meeting she had 
. the great joy of receiving as guests in her humble 
home the precious friends whom she had so often 
visited at West Chester, Pa., Aunt Mary Hayes and 
her sister Anna. Their stay was not long, but it 
was a delight to mother to have them with her, 
even for a season. They were accompanied also 
by a niece and sister from New Bedford,—the lat- 
ter one of those to whom: these **sKetchee: saan= 
dedicated, one who had once called ‘‘ Aunt Har- 


pe 


riet’s” house *‘* home.” These two dear ones from 





———<-— =. os. . 


TO! GLORY: 171 


New Bedford made their home with friends on Mt. 
Auburn, but joined the sisters here for one day, 
which was a joyous time to all, and called up dear 
associations and memories of the past. It was all 
too short, but its sacred moments and opportunities 
seemed, not only to mother but to all who partici- 
pated in its joys, as if stamped with ‘‘ God’s ever- 
lasting love,” as mother’s interpretation of the hap- 
piness of that day and that whole visit could only 
come from Him ‘‘ Whose nature and Whose name 
is Love.” 
‘* Yes, there it stands, O love surpassing thought, 
So bright, so grand, so clear, so true, so glorious ; 
Love infinite, love tender, love unsought, 
Love changeless, love rejoicing, love victorious ! 


And this great love for us, in boundless store: 
God’s everlasting love! What would we more? 


“Yes, one thing more! To know it ours indeed, 
To add the conscious joy of full possession. 
O tender grace that stoops to every need ! 
This everlasting love hath found expression 
In loving kindness, which hath gently drawn 
The hearts that else astray too willingly had gone.” 


It was a happy day, in which many mingled ; 
and two of that company are even now in glory— 
in the immediate presence of Him who then drew 


all hearts nearer to each other by the silken cords 


172 THROUGH GRACE 


of His own love. The parting-time came, and the 
only tearless one was this dear mother, who said 
that even if we did not meet again on earth the 
parting would not be for long to any of us, and 
‘¢ scarcely worth while to say farewell, so soon to 
meet again.” The following extract from a letter 
written by my aunt after my precious mother had 
gone to taste the cup of glory which would sweeten 
earth’s bitterest woe, is best inserted here. It is 


dated 


Home, Oct. 30, 1883. 
My Dearest 38.: 


Just one year ago to-day I spoke the last farewell to thy 
darling mother! It was very hard for me to turn from her, 
for though I did not positively believe I should never see 
her again on earth, look on her dear face, or hear again her 
loving words,—yet the possibility that such might be the 
case would press itself upon me; and with every thought of 
her passing to her eternal reward was mingled a keen sense, 
not only of my own personal loss, but of the terrible desola- 
tion that would be thy portion when thy home and heart 


>) 


must be bereft of thy dearest earthly joy. 


But to return to the year 1882. Its winter was, 
in some respects, a hard one for mother,—at least 
so it seemed to the one who was a constant witness 
of her sufferings; but to mother nothing seemed 


hard. She often said, ‘‘So unworthy, and yet every 








TO GLORY. 173 


untold blessing crowding my daily path, mercy from 
first to last.” To the writer it was a winter of sweet 
privilege, ministering to one so beloved, drinking in 
the teachings from her lips, listening to and joining 
in her prayers. Almost every hour of its days and 
nights is impressed upon the mind by treasured 
pictures from its passing weeks and months which 
hang on memory’s walls; while ineffaceable lines 
of love are written all over the sensitive ‘* red- 
leaved tablets of the heart.” I thank God for these 
memories of my life. 
‘« Saviour, Thou knowest the story ; 
Weak i is the heart I now lay at Thy feet ; 


Sinful and sorrowing; yet for Thy glory, 
Cleanse it and heal it from sin and deceit.” 


* * 


‘¢ Still onward to my quiet home, 
With yearning, glad endeavor.” 

The swiftly passing years, and the nearing time 
when she, too, was to hear the call of ‘‘ Friend, come 
up higher!” showed no decline in the desire of my 
mother to do what she might for the good of all 
about her. She not only seized upon the opportu- 
nities which presented themselves to her observation, 
but she eagerly sought for others, and was always 


happiest when busiest about her ‘‘ Father’s business.” 


174 THROUGH GRACE 


ee PE 


The great flood of 1883, which produced so much 


suffering and want among not alone the poorer 
classes, but among all who lived in the flooded 
districts, aroused in my mother’s heart a desire to 
help in the arduous work of ameliorating the sor- 
rows and sufferings of those afflicted ones. Having 
dear friends in New Bedford who were on the alert 
to help, they decided to send to my mother such 
articles as they could,—and wrote, asking her if it 
would be taxing her too much thus to consign to 
her what they had to send. Mother was delighted 
to accept the trust, and wrote to that effect; and 
could she have walked, she would have travelled 
up and down the streets of the flooded districts, 
seeking the hidden ones who suffered so greatly 
because they would not apply to the public relief 
committees. A box and barrel of very nice gar- 
ments of all kinds arrived from these friends early 
in March, and mother at once converted her little 
parlor into a store-room. Nothing was done for 
some time by her but to recéive thew porns 
names and needs, brought to her by two dear 
friends who visited the families, and then assisted 
mother in selecting the garments needed, and then 


carrying the supplies to the needy ones. And to 





4 


TO GLORY. 175 


mother that large box and that wonderful barrel 
were inexhaustible. She often said, with a joy-beam 
in her eye, that nothing was catalogued as a want 
but that the supply could be found somewhere in 
that box or in that barrel. 

Through this private charity, in some way, the 
‘¢Union for Good Works,” a charitable institution 
in New Bedford, heard of my mother’s agency, and 
decided to ask her to become its almoner, which 
she gladly did, and thus continued her efforts in the 
same direction. Mr. S. G. Morgan was president 
of the organization, and Mr. Frederick S. Allen 
treasurer; and, after the necessary correspondence 
between them and my mother, the work was inau- 
gurated, without ‘‘red tape” and without ‘ public 


? 


relief committees;” and surely no one ever saw 
my mother happier or more completely ‘‘ carried 
out of herself” and her own disabilities. Mr. Mor- 
gan desired that the garments and bedding sent by 
their society should be distributed outside of Cincin- 
nati, in some of the towns which were so fearfully 
devastated by the overflowing waters. Mother at 
once selected a suitable lady, who was a personal 
friend, of tender heart and sound judgment, to go 


with the goods, distributing them as she found the 


176 -_ THROUGH GRACE 


real needs. Lawrenceburg was the principal point 
chosen. The reports were very satisfactory to 
mother, and she in return reported to the president 
in New Bedford. Beside this one hundred dollars’ 
worth of clothing, mother received the following 
letter: ‘‘ Enclosed please find check for fifty dollars 
from the ‘Union for Good Works’ also. It is for 
you to dispose of as you see fit; this, as well as 
contents of the box, to be used at your own discre- 
tion. Weare glad to have it sent to such a reliable 
source for distribution.” And the treasurer, a per- 
sonal friend of my mother, said,—‘‘I was never 
before identified with a charity when I felt such 
perfect satisfaction as to its distribution.” And the 
gentleman who donated the fifty dollars to the 
‘¢Union ” had her likeness placed in his hand. He 
looked at it, and handed it back, saying, ‘‘ That face 
is enough for me.” ‘Thus everywhere was she hon- 
ored ; but every remark which had the least approach 
towards exaltation of herself was always checked 
with ** No, no; to God belongs all the glory.” 
‘‘T’m a poor sinner—just nothing at all— 
But Jesus Christ is all in all.” 
Mother acknowledged the check, and felt so rich 


with that amount in her possession to do good with, 





Poe ae ee 


ear a! 


TO GLORY. yey? 


she made it go very far, the largest amount given 
to any one person seldom exceeding one dollar; it 
went in dimes and quarters mostly, and it lasted a 
long time and made many hearts happy. She kept 
a strict account of every dollar so spent, and, when 
all was over, it was found by her auditor that she 
had encroached upon her own slender resources to 
the amount of twenty dollars and forty-two cents. 
Thus, near the close of her busy, precious life, she 
was actively engaged with the interests vital to oth- 
ers, literally fulfilling her Saviour’s injunction, ‘* Oc- 


? 


cupy till I come,” and blessing all whom she could 
reach personally, or through the assistance of 
others. It was nearly two months that my mother 
thus devoted time and strength to the distribution 
of this charity. The following is an extract from 
the secretary’s report, read at the Annual Meeting 
of the ‘* Union for Good Works,” in New Bedford, 
the autumn after my mother’s death—after all her 
work on earth was done: 

From contributions received from various citizens of New 
Bedford, your committee received $223.20 for the purchase 
of garments which were to be sent to the sufferers from the 
Ohio floods. Two hundred and thirty-nine garments were 


accordingly forwarded to Mrs. Harriet Steer, of Cincinnati, 
for distribution. Mrs. Steer, a member and minister of the 


178 | THROUGH GRACE ee 


OE ee ee 





Society of Friends, after a life of practical good works, has _ 
lately died, at the age of eighty-eight years, honored, Te 


spected, and beloved. 


\ 


* * * 


Be quiet: fearnor. 
‘Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” — 


‘¢ Precious, precious to Jehovah is His children’s holy sleep ; 
He is with them in the passing through the waters, cold and 
deep: 
Everlasting love enfolds them, softly, sweetly, to His breast; 
Everlasting love receives them to His glory and His rest.” 


After the flood subsided, and she had done all 
the work she could in that direction, both my mother 
and the friends nearest her realized the strain she 
had been under, and saw she was greatly exhausted 
by this constant exercise of her sympathies and the 
conscientious effort made to carry out the wishes of 
the donors in the prosecution of the work in hand. 
As usual, when the warm spring weather came, her 
ever faithful friend from the ‘* Hill-top House ” came 
to ask the dear weary one to go and take a good — 
rest in its quiet shade. I shall@newer forget the 
day, and Mrs. Trevor will not, for mother had been 
very sick, and had kept her bed for a few days,—was 
quite languid, not much appetite, and the pain evi- 


TO GLORY. 179 


dently getting a little the upper hand of her. At 
sight of Mrs. T. and the sound of her cheery, well 
known voice, she brightened up almost immediately, 
and thought she would be able to accept the kind 
invitation extended to her, and that she should be 
able to go in a few days. The very prospect of the 
change from routine to rest did her good like a 
tonic ;—the wearing pain was better, and she was 
soon able to sit up again. ) 

About the middle of May she was able to ride 
out some, and one bright, sweet day she was taken 


to Mt. Auburn, where she received her ever cordial 





welcome. ‘The visit—all of it—was delightful to my 
ees and it did seem to be so to all in that home. 
She was able to see many dear friends while there, 
who called to talk with her for a little while, and 
she always had the same sunny greeting for them. 
Her strength improved, and she seemed to renew 
her vitality,—began to talk of visiting the dear ones 
at Selma and at ‘‘ Burr Oaks” when she should 
gain just a little more. 

After remaining for six weeks in this lovely home, 
she proposed returning to the city. To all their 
kind efforts to have the visit yet prolonged, she 


urged that we had availed ourselves of their gen- 


180 THROUGH GRACE 


erous-hearted kindness as long as we should. She 
adhered to her plan, however, which was to be at 
home by July rst. The carriage was ordered to 
call for her, after dinner, on the 3othvGim) Wie ame 
came accordingly, and she started. As she walked 
out to take her seat, we all noticed how much 
firmer and better she could walk than when she 
was taken there. It was then hard work to get her 
into the house. We said adieu at the side of the 
carriage, and then drove to the city. Once more 
in the little consecrated home, which our ever faith- 
ful Sarah Stanton had made ready for us, mother 
seemed satisfied and thankful. She now more will- 
“ingly acknowledged the pain of body, which was at 
this time very severe. But school duties were over 
for the summer, and uninterrupted attention and 
ceaseless care could now be given to the precious 
invalid, and she would be better soon. She enjoyed 
our home-coming, and that evening of June 30 will 
long be remembered. The early dawn of July 1 
was beautiful, and mother was up at her usual early 
hour, very bright and hopeful. 

At a backward glance upon those July Pee the 
heart falters, and the pen fails to tell of their hopes 


and their fears, their conflicts and their victories. 





TO-GLORY: ISI 


Every day is indelibly impressed upon the mind; but 
the very poverty of words prevents the reproduction 
on paper of thirty-one pictures of memory, which 
‘would present to the dear friends who kindly peruse 
these pages the minutest details of those days, in 
their fainter shadings and more brilliant colorings. 
But the experiences of them, with their unutterable 
emotions, anxious forebodings, and _heart-crushing 
fears, lie all too deeply hidden to be told with tongue 
or pen, and only the daily surface-life can be por- 
trayed. Thank God! this surface view is much of 
it very pleasant to look upon. Mother was fully 
sustained, and very cheerful most of the time. She 
was able to enjoy seeing me make preparations. to 
attend a wedding on the 3d instant; was at the 
window to see me start, and again at the window 
to see me return, an hour or two later. She then 
wanted to know all about the wedding, and how 
the ‘‘ bride” looked, for my mother was interested 
in her as one for whom she had often prayed, and 
never more earnestly, as she assured me, than on 
this her bridal day. And may my mother’s even- 
ing benediction drop down upon this dear one as 
long as she lives. 

The first day meeting she could not attend, it 





182 THROUGH GRACE 


being held up-stairs, but the following fifth day she 
was wheeled in on her rolling chair; and it was 
a great delight to her to be once more with her 
friends in their quiet worship,—these friends, whose 
love ‘‘she counted like no other.” \Attersmeenms 
she stayed and took lunch with them, remaining 
socially until the members scattered to attend upon 
their various missions. ‘Then she consented to be 
wheeled home again. She insisted on going up 
and down stairs daily, saying it was much more 
healthful to make the change, and to sleep up in- 
stead of down stairs. She had not given up the 
idea of going away for a part of the summer, and 
planned several times for the proposed visits to Sel- 
ma and ‘‘ Burr Oaks,” but the out-look grew daily 
more uncertain, until both plainly saw there was 
no hope of improvement, and each avoided speak- 
ing to the other for fear of giving unnecessary 
pain. 3 

Her faithful and most tenderly beloved physician 
would have been at her side long before this, but 
that he was detained at the sick-bed of his daugh- 
ter, who was seriously ill at the East,—so ill that 
he could not leave her. My mother declined having 


a stranger, desiring greatly to wait until Dr. David 


TO GLORY. 183 


Judkins returned. Thus the time wore on, and the 
accustomed remedies were used with varying suc- 
cess. The last time she attended meeting was ona 
fifth day, near the middle of the month. She was 
quite feeble, but so glad to be there once more, and 
the friends very glad to have her, that she stayed un- 
til quite late into the afternoon; and then she was so 
nearly exhausted, from the strain of company and 
constant conversation and quietly endured suffering, 
that she could scarcely get up to her room; but she 
persevered, and reached there at last. After dressing 
the ankle and giving such restoratives as were at 
hand, she said a few words about the coming end— 
only a few—for she was not able to converse; and | 
they, were about all she was ever able to say. She 
acknowledged the intense nature of the pain, saying 
she never had known suffering like it, and that if 
she lived much longer her mind must give way: 
she could not endure it and retain her senses much 
longer. Seeing this affected me fearfully, she seem- 
ed to understand my agony of heart, and in her 
usually calm way she smiled and kissed me, saying, 
‘¢ Now, my dear child, be brave and fearless; thee 
has done all thee could; and while I do feel my 


utter unworthiness and great mental and physical 





184 THROUGH GRACE 


weakness, yet my blessed Saviour is with me, and 
I have not one doubt to dim my spirit’s vision, and 
‘I know in whom I have believed,’ and ‘I fear no 
evil.’” She at that time consented to consult a phy- | 
sician, and we decided to call Dr. McKenzie. But 
her mind was much shattered even now. That mind, 
which had never before seemed to yield to the pres- 
sure of pain, now gave way before the combined 
forces of disease and remedies and age. She told 
the doctor all about herself, and how she mourned 
the absence of Dr. David Judkins, but that now she 
would resign her case into his hands, archly asking 
him if he was a ‘‘man of God.” He gave her ano- 
dynes, doing all he could to quiet the terrible pain, 
which could not be endured any longer. She was 
always glad to see her doctor when he came, and 
he could often influence her when no one else could. 
She had intervals of comparative ease, but was not 
quite herself, though even in the midst of a half con- 
sciousness she had often very pleasant thoughts and 
words, knew all who were around her, and greeted 
all who came to see her with something of her wonted 
gladness. She often talked in pleasant undertone, 
weaving her words into musical cadences. She 
asked, ‘‘ What day is this?” On being told it was 


TO GLORY. 185 


VO 


first- day, she said, ‘‘Oh! this is meeting day: I 


must go,” 


and adjusting herself somewhat on her 
pillow, she folded her arms, and was very still for 
a few minutes, and then she began in a strain some- 
thing like the following: ‘‘ Dear friends, the Lord 
requires a whole consecration. He will not accept 
any half-hearted service: then draw very near, and 
do not fear. He will lead you beside the waters 
clear. Be not dismayed; be not afraid. He will 
lead you, He will feed you; and He can keep you, 
and He will, if you he still, and do not fear while 
He is near.” And on and on thus, until exhausted 
nature caused the sounds to die away into a sleep, 
or the returning pain would rouse her to the realiza- 
tion of intense suffering, and the soft cadences would 
swell Into agonizing screams, which were terrible 
to hear. 

_ She was always, in sickness or in health, very 
fond of flowers, and: many were now sent to her, 
and never failed to soothe and comfort her mind, 
and centre it on God. The sight of the beautiful 
flowers seemed to put tender thoughts into her mind; 
they made her for the moment natural, and she al- 
ways asked, ‘‘ Who did send them?” and always 


responded with some pleasant word or message for 


186 THROUGH GRACE 


the givers, showing she recognized them in a meas- 
ure, and knew where to place them. The flowers 
Abbie Newton brought were handed to her, and 
on being told who sent them, she said, ‘‘Oh, how 
kind! Give her my love: I always loved the Tre- 
vors, all of them,”—and then she looked up into my 
face with an inquiring smile and asked, ‘‘ Did I get 
that right?” ‘* Yes,” I told her, and tiegethesy asa 
was recognized again. She had some flowers from 
the Ninth-street Church one Sabbath, and being told 
at once where they came from, Ssatdy=7Oneoicy 
are lovely; no ostentation there. God made the 
flowers. Yes, I love Sarah’s friends; 1 love the 
Baptists ; I love that Ninth-street Church; I love Dr. 
Duncan, a Godly man,” and with an earnest, search- 
ing look into my face, said, ‘‘I want him here; but 
no set service ;—thee understands, Sarah, thee under- 
stands, does thee? I want him here.” And when 
assured that all should be done as she.desired, she 
would cease the strain and be quiet for a time. One 
more incident about flowers: It had been a fearfully 
trying, agonizing day: she had no rest of body or of 
mind; felt that she was not at home; called on me 
several times to know if I ‘* could or would give her 


any explanation of the mystery of her being here, 





FO CLORY: 187 


OE SOE MU SU SO Pe 


instead of in that peaceful home.” And then to 
soothe her I would say,—‘‘ Mother, dear, thee could 
not travel with such a painful ankle, so here we are 
for a while; but when thee is able to travel, then, 
mother, dear, thee is to go home.” She would lie 
quite still, with her sweet eyes gazing into mine, and 
when I would stop talking, there would gather into 
her face a look of pleading agony, and she would 
say,—‘*‘O Sarah! home as quick as possible, home 
as quick as possible with me!” Is it any wonder 
that I wove into my heart’s constant cry to God this 
prayer,—‘‘ Oh, Heavenly Father! home as quick as 
possible for my mother”? Surely no one could want 
her to live any longer, when every breath and every 
heart-throb was one of agony. Well, it was on a 
day like this, of unrest to the suffering one, when 
a few most lovely roses were sent to her by her 
dear A. A. Warder. When handed to her, and told 
who had sent them, in soft and natural tones she 
said, ‘* How kind she is!” 
elbow she rested, and took the flowers in both hands 


and smelled of them, as with a wistful tenderness of 


and raising herself on her 





voice, and eyes filling with soft tears, she said, in her 
naturally loving voice, ‘‘ Jesus had thorns, and I 
have only roses. I wonder what it means.” And 


ey 
~ ae 
R 


188 THROUGH GRACE 


thus she would seem to forget her pain in the vision 
of the flowers. . Flowers did her much good, and 
many were sent, many dear ones ministering to her 
in that way. One dear friend sent her fresh cream 
on ice every day for two weeks, that being the only 
nourishment she could take. The days and nights 
were much alike—one long agony prolonged; it 
took two or three all the time to minister to her ne- 
cessities. Dr. McKenzie was very kind, coming at 
all hours, and often soothing her when we could do 
nothing. It was a trying time, in which human 
- strength failed. Many of our dear ones were away 
from the city—Dr. David Judkins’s entire family, 
and dear Mrs. Trevor, for whom mother called again 
and again. Mr. Trevor called every @dayasonce 
mother saw him. She was so glad, saying, ‘‘ Well, 
John Trevor, I am glad to see thee; it is so good 
to see a man relation.” Thus she claimed him to 
the last; but she was not strong enough to talk to 
him any more at that time. 

My pastor Dr. Duncan, and his wife, were about 
leaving us for their new field of labor, and thus the 
closing July days passed one after another, until 
the last one came. On that evening her ‘‘ cousin 


doctor,” as she familiarly called him, returned; and 


TO GLORY. 189 


late as it was when he arrived, he came to her bed- 
side; but she could not recognize him fully. He 
administered one potion of medicine which I had 
tried in vain to induce her to take ;—he then left; 
saying he would come in the morning, which he 
did. He looked at her in silence, and said, in answer 
to my question, ‘‘ The struggle will not be much 
longer,” and left to see the attending physician. 
The dear one spoke but few words that day, only 
rousing from the effects of morphine into conscious 
agony, so that when she would sink into this death- 
like sleep from the anodyne given, all hearts with 
one accord, as it were, seemed to hft up the prayer 
that the compassionate Saviour would take her 
home without one more pain. About half past two 
o'clock in the afternoon she sunk into a heavy 
sleep, from which her awakening was glorious; for 
the awakening was not on earth. Her ransomed 
spirit had been set free from pain and suftering. 
Her last three breaths were long groans, - growing 
longer and fainter, until she went away without a 
struggle, at half past four o’clock on fourth day 
afternoon, 8th mo., 1, 1883. Instead of the agony 
of parting, I felt for the time only the gladness of 
great joy, in that I knew she, the dearly loved 


I90 LTHROCGHRGRACE 


one, was forever free from the pains, the sufferings, 
the sorrows of earth; and I rejoiced, beholding only 
the heaven side of the picture, and I can say with 
the sweet singer, ““F. R. H.”— | 


‘¢ Let Him write what He will upon my heart 
With His unerring pen. It is His own; 
Let Him write! 
Be sure He will not cross out one sweet word 
But to inscribe a sweeter,—but to grave 
One that shall shine forever to His praise, 
And thus fulfil my deepest heart desire.” 


Dear friends were with me, a nurse also, whom 
I had called to my aid a few days before, and 
Sarah Stanton; together we prepared the body for 
the grave, and then she lay in the majesty of 
death. - 

That evening many friends called, among them 
dear Dr. and Mrs. Duncan, who were to leave the 
next morning for their new field of labor at Roch- 
ester, N. Y.; but Dr. Duncan kindly proposedaia 
stay until after I should lay my precious one away 
in the last resting-place—the grave. We made 
what preparations we could for the funeral, and 
then all friends left and we retired for the night. 
There had been eleven nights of untold agony be- 


fore this one of peace and rest. ‘Tired nature was 





TO GLORY. 19I 


OO ee ne A 


so exhausted that sleep very soon came to strengthen 
and refresh. | 

I had thought that if I slept the awakening would 
be fearful; but it was not, at all, so sustained was 
I by that heavenly vision of her perfect rest and 
happiness ;—and to add to this glory-view, a tele- 
gram was placed in my hand in the morning, which 
announced to us the death of Uncle Gibbons ‘‘ at 
half past two, the rst of August,” two hours before 
my mother passed, within the ‘‘ Pearl Gates,” there 
doubtless to be greeted first of all by that brother 
for whom she had agonized in prayer so long as 
she held control of her mind. What, beyond our 
comprehension, must have been the joy of that 
meeting in glory,—to go together, to be greeted 
by their Lord, who had redeemed them from sin, 
and whose blood availed to present them to His 


Father ‘faultless in His glory’s presence.” 


‘* Now the long, long wonder ends! 
Yet ye weep, my erring friends,— 
While the one whom ye call dead, 
In unspoken bliss instead, 
Lives and loves you. Lost, ’t is true, 
By such light as shines for you: 
But in the light ye cannot see, 
Of unfulfilled felicity, 
In enlarging paradise 
Lives a life that never dies.” —Arnold. 


192 THROUGH GRACE 


See 


‘* Past all pain forever, 

Done with sickness now; 

Let me close thine eyes, mother, 
Let me smooth thy brow. 

Rest and health and gladness— 
These thy portion now; 

Let me press thy hand, mother, 
Let me kiss thy brow.” —Bonar. 


* * 
* * * 


‘¢ When from my gentle sister’s tomb 
In all our grief we came, 
Rememberest thou the vacant room? 
Well, hers was just the same that day,— 
The very, very same.” 


The sacred stillness of death rested on home and 
heart alike, but there was no anguish, no darkness 
at all; but, instead, a sweetness which seemed ‘‘ like 
a benediction after prayer.” Surely never was lov- 
ing Christian sympathy more effectual in its mission 
of comfort to the sorrowing than on the occasion of 
this precious one’s funeral. Instead of weeping, 
and the habiliments of woe—instead of this, it was 
as if a band of angels were hovering over the scene, 
and the lonely heart was receiving comfort by the 


whispered breathings which echoed this song of faith : 


‘¢ What are the whispering voices? 


* * * * 





TO GLORY. 193 


They tell of a golden city, 
With pearl and jasper bright ; 

And of shining forms, that beckon 
From the pure and dazzling light. 

Then a rush of far-off harpings 
Blends with the voices clear; 

And I know that the night is passing, 
And I know that the day is near.” 

And then, too, there was an absence of all selfish- 
ness of grief. It was not as if one alone were feeling 
the natural sorrow and the supernatural rejoicing, 
but rather as if all hearts there were mourning the 
death of a mother, and rejoicing together at the 
thought which gladdened all hearts, —‘*‘ No more 
pain!” She was a mother indeed to many loved 
ones in that large company, but ‘‘the wilderness 
and the solitary place were made glad, and the des- 
ert was made to rejoice and blossom as the rose.” 

Long before my mother’s death she made some 
requests with regard to her funeral. Among them, 
she desired to be taken to the meeting-house, but 
particularly requested that her body should not be 
carried up-stairs, and I prevailed on Friends to 
‘have her plans carried out. Accordingly a few 
friends gathered at the house August 3d, at 2.30 
Pp. M., and the kind friends who served as pall- 


bearers carried her into the room where she had so 


194. THROUGH GRACE 


often met with them and others for worship. The 
little company followed, and we were soon seated 
about the precious remains, in the midst of a large 
company of gathered friends. They were those who 
loved her that came there that day ;—not only her 
own, but all denominations of Christians were rep- 
resented. ‘The services were necessarily long, but 
strictly under the direction of Friends, as she re- 
quested; all were at liberty, however, for the Spirit 
of the Lord was there. Old and young, rich and 
poor, gathered in silence about the cold form of the 
one they had loved so long and so well. 

Those who were present at the funeral need not 
to be reminded of the peculiarly hallowing influence 
which pervaded the scene; and to those who were 
not present it would be impossible to convey an 
adequate conception of the power there was to lift 
all hearts in adoring faith to Him who ‘ bears our 
griefs and carries our sorrows.” One friend writes 
thus: ‘*I never attended such a funeral betoressat 
seemed to me that we could almost see beyond the 
‘Pearl Gates,’ and witness the scene as she heard 
the plaudit, ‘ Well done, thou good and faithful ser- 
vant.’ And its influence on me was to make me 


feel I wanted to consecrate my life more perfectly ; 


TO GLORY. 195 


that it was worth everything to have lived such a 
life; and it was an inspiration to me to live nearer 
to God, to be thenceforth wholly consecrated to His 
service.” 

Many took part in the services,—Friends, Bap- 
tists, Presbyterians, and Methodists,—all testifying 
to the Grace of God which made her what she was 
to individuals and to the church. Daniel Hill, a 
minister from another meeting, was present; and a 
beloved niece of; my mother’s, Cousin Anna 5S. 
Richie, and her husband, were from Smyrna. This 
dear cousin spoke beautifully of the power of 
Christian influence as exercised in the life of this 
departed saint;—she also appeared in supplication. 
This dear cousin has since been called up higher, 
and has taken that ‘‘one grand step beyond the 
stars;” and they now rejoice together. 

‘¢An epistle of God, known and read of all 
men,” was H. T. Miller’s theme, and he gave some 
beautiful testimony to her life and walk as a Chris- 
tian. Then my pastor, S. W. Duncan, spoke at 
~some length, referring to this time of peculiar inter- 
est as the coronation day of the departed saint. He 
gave clear testimony, also, as to her influence upon 
his own life, and his office of a Christian minister 


196 THROUGH GRACE 


TE On 


as well; and many others added their words of — 


loving appreciation of her value. But all gave 
grand words of testimony to the glory of the One 
Name. | 
These various services occupied the time so that 
it was near the sunset hour when we reached the 
cemetery; and, with Dr. Duncan at my side; we 
followed the pall-bearers, with their precious bur- 
den, to the open grave. It was a time of holy 
thought, but the bitterness of death was all taken 
away, and it almost seemed that angels had pre- 
ceded us in that pathway and strewed it with imper- 
ishable flowers; but, later, the realization came that 
Jesus Himself had trodden the way before us, and 
left the perfume of sweet spices there. A prayer 
at the grave by my pastor, and the casket was low- 
ered into its resting-place, there to remain until the 


beautiful morning of the Resurrection. 
‘*T am the Resurrection and the Life.” 


‘¢ Softly within that peaceful resting-place 
We lay the weary limbs; and bid the clay 
Press lightly on them till the night be past, 
And the far east gives note of coming day.” 


The following beautiful letter is from a friend — 
who attended the funeral, and, as she refers to it 


a 


TO GLORY. 197 


in the opening page, it seems most fitting to insert 
it here. It is dated,— 


OXPORD,SAUr: 15,1833. 

Dear SisTER :—May I write to thee? Hardly a day has 
passed that I have not thought of thee since that sad—no, 
beautiful—*‘ Coronation Day” of thy dear mother, when I 
went and sat with thee beside her, and listened to the grand 
words of testimony and love to her from the lips of her 
Lord’s children. 

Often since that day have I tried to picture to my heart 
the beautiful city within whose gates she hath entered. But 
how faint is my conception, when I doubt whether even her 
glorious faith, her close acquaintance with the Lord of the 
city, her long anticipations of the place, in any measure 
enabled her to realize all the beauty, the peace, the glory, 
and the gladness she now hath found there. I know that 
the words, ‘‘ No more pain!” must have been ringing and 
singing through thy heart in the midst of all thy sorrow and 
loneliness. I know thee has the sure faith that makes thee 
remember in the midst of thy weeping, that the dear mother 
still lives and loves and waits for thee. 

Ah! what need is there that I, so ** newly born” into the 
hope and gladness and love of our Lord, should write to 
thee? What can I say, dear friend, save that I love thee, 


-and in sorrow with thee have lived over again all the days 


of my own mother’s going out from my life? To thee, 
‘*founded upon the Rock,” no such disaster can come as 
came to me when my mother left me on a wide, wide sea, 
Christless and alone! No years of bitter rebellion and 
wandering will be thine, but just each night, after the day’s 


198 THROUGH GRACE 


TT 


work for Christ, the sweetly solemn thought, ‘‘ I’m nearer 
home to-day than ever I’ve been before.” I pray for thee, 
dear, that He who is keeping thee will ever keep thee ‘‘ in 


perfect peace.” 
Pardon me if this is an intrusion, and accept the love of 


thy sister in Christ and 
Sincere friend, . INGO Wieece 


* * 
* * * 


‘¢T shine in the light of God, 
His likeness stamps my brow; 
Through the shadows of death my feet have trod, 
And I reign in glory now. 


‘¢Oh! friends of mortal years, 
The trusted and the true, 
Ye are walking still in the vale of tears, 
And I wait to welcome you.” 


Some loving testimony from her friends to the 
memory of this dear mother will find a place here, 
also extracts from a few of the many letters received 
after her death. ‘These expressions of sympathy 
were very cordial to the emptied, aching heart. 
Many of these letters contain also loving testimony 
to what the departed one had been to them. Of 
these letters there were one hundred and twenty- 
eight. Most of them were answered, and, though 
the recipient is very unworthy, she is very grateful 





TO GLORY. 199 


for such expressions of sympathy and love; and 
though these extracts are thus used without special 


permission from some of the writers—a number of 





such I could not consult—yet I feel quite sure they 


will not object to this use of their kind and beau- 
tiful words of sympathy and testimony. 

The following obituary notices appeared in some 
of our secular papers. The first was clipped by a 
friend from a paper in a distant city and sent to 
me. It is a mere notice of her death, but, as it 
alludes to her life work of caring for the poor, it 


will be interesting : 


The death of Mrs. Harriet Steer, of Cincinnati, in her — 
eighty-eighth year, deserves a notice. She was a promi- 
nent minister of the Society of Friends, and for at least fifty 
years was a good angel to the poor. During most of that 
time it was her custom, every winter, to prepare a large 
boiler of soup on two days of the week. This she distributed 
gratuitously at her door to all whom she had visited and 
invited to call for it. Even as late as the last winter of her 
life she was at her self-appointed post, as in days gone by. 
While others, it may be, have been vainly warring over 
theological abstractions, this practical woman has been 
illustrating in her life the true spirit of the Christian re- 
ligion.” 


The next is longer, and appeared in ‘ Friends 


Review ” and some of the daily papers: 


200 THROUGH GRACE 


sui CE MO MO Se 


Obituary, 


At her residence in Cincinnati, on the rst of Sth mo., 
1883, Harriet Steer passed into her eternal rest. 

She was born in 1795, and came into the Society of 
Friends by convincement. She was a person of great 
breadth of character, had strong and clear views of truth, 
and has literally been a succorer of many. Hers was a 
faith which was shown by work; her life was a living epistle, 
seen and read of all men; and yet she was a life-long suf- 
ferer, seldom knowing what it was to be free from pain. 
Sometimes those who loved her most wondered why it 
should be permitted that she should endure such constant 
suffering ; but they were always quieted by her assured dec- 
laration that she had not one pain too much, for it must be 
that His children must fill up that which is behind of the 
affliction of Christ in their flesh, for His body’s sake, which 
is the church. 

Her constant theme was the mercies of God in Christ 
Jesus our Lord, and the covering of her spirit that of ador- 
ing gratitude. Deeply attached to the principles of the 
Society of Friends, she was firm and immovable in her 
interpretations of them ; yet so was she clothed with fervent 
charity that every follower of the Lord Jesus was to her a 
brother, and in the sweetness of common union with Him 
she could most fully realize the blessedness of all barriers 
being taken away in Him, and that they together were fel- 
low-citizens with the Saints and of the household of God, 
being built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, 
Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone, in whom 
all the building, fitly framed together, groweth unto an 
holy temple in the Lord. 


LO GLORY. 201 


PT 


Her Quakerism was primitive Christianity revived, and 
Quakerism to her meant a distinct branch of the Christian 
church; not incompatible, in her estimation, with her broad 
charity ; with a rigid conformity to manifested duty ; anda 
very close and self-denying walk for herself and those pro- 
fessing as she did. She felt we, as a church, could not 
afford, under the plea of liberty of conscience, to allow any 
innovation which sapped our testimony in regard to the 
entire spirituality of the Gospel dispensation; and to her 
latest days she gave no uncertain interpretation of the truth, 
as she firmly held it. 

She was a wonderful illustration of greenness in old age, 
bringing forth the fruit of the lips with much freshness and 
life, as in the earlier days of her consecration, and refreshing 
the Lord’s heritage. 

The illness which at last closed her earthly career was 
only of three weeks’ duration, and her sufferings of so intense 
a character that she had to be kept under the influence of 
anodynes. Yet, during her lucid intervals, she was always 
the same—humble, thankful, patient. But death-bed utter- 
ances are not needed to assure her friends of her hope and 
of her faith. The epistle of a life of eighty-eight years is 
the legacy she has left. 

The occasion of her funeral was a remarkable one. People 
who seldom meet on a common level were there knit to- 
gether by a common bereavement ;—high and low, rich and 
poor, met together, and the Lord was felt to be present. 
The Gospel was preached, and the rich consolations of our 
holy religion were spread as a feast; and while Christians 
of various denominations bore testimony of what she had 
been to them, it was to testify of the Gospel of the Grace of 
God, that made her what she was. 


202 THROUGH GRACE 


OT CT eB MD 


‘¢’'To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with Me in 
My throne, even as I also overcame and am set down with 
My Father in His throne.” 


The following sweet note, with accompanying 
testimonial from the monthly meeting of which she 
was a member, will show in a measure the esti- 
mation in which my mother was held by her friends 
there : 

ASTON, 10,5 26s6 baa: 

DEAR S:—I did not intend to let so long a time pass 
without expressing my deep sympathy with thee in thy 
loneliness. Our dear parents quickly followed one after 
the other to the eternal home; but while I still have a moth- 
er to care for and to watch over, thee can feel that only a 
little space separates thee from all thy dear ones. I cannot 
tell thee what thy precious mother has been to me, ever 
since I was a member of her family. I have no recollection 
of her before that time ; and I am but one of the many she 
succored and nourished for the King. 

I enclose the minute of our monthly meeting. We cannot 
say all that might be said of her life, and the spring of all 
her joy and peace. -May her life incite us to greater dili- 


gence. 
Thy attached and sympathizing friend, 


A. A. W. 
The ‘*minute” reads as follows: 


We to-day are called upon to record the death of our be- 
loved aged friend, Harriet Steer. Long an approved minis- 
ter of our meeting, the memory of her words of counsel and 


LO GLORY. 203 


Oe Sem 


encouragement, often uttered in our little gatherings, now 
alone remains with us. 

Of her we may truly say that both in public and in pri- 
vate life she obeyed the Apostle,—‘‘ Hold fast that form of 
sound words which thou hast heard of me, in faith and love 
which is in Christ Jesus.” And again: ‘‘ Preach the word ; 
be instant in season, out of season.”’ 

Through many years of almost constant suffering her 
cheerfulness was unceasing, and by it she greatly adorned 
the religion she professed and lived. She was an earnest 
adherent of the testimonies of Friends, which she was al- 
ways ready to advocate or explain to those who asked her 
views. She felt great interest in and love for the young, to 
each of whom, as well as to those more advanced in years, 
she showed a warm personal affection, as she gave the words 
suited to each,—encouragement to the timid, or strength to 
the weak ; and taught all to look up, away from the trials of 
earth, to the loving Heavenly Father who ‘ doeth all things 
well.” 

Rich and poor, old and young, feel they have lost a true 
friend ; and our little meeting is sorely stripped, as one after 
another has been called away from works to rewards. 

Taken from the Minutes of Cincinnati Monthly Meeting 
of Women Friends, held 8th mo. 16, 1883. 

A. A. Warpv_ErR, Clerk. 


And the following is from another friend: 


The memory of thy dear mother is very precious to me, 
as I always think of her as the one who, more than any 
other person in the world, helped me to see ‘‘Jesus as the 
one altogether lovely.” I had been awakened long before, 


204. THROUGH GRACE 


TE OE A PE A ST Ce en En 


and during my dear sister’s illness had determined to trust 
in Him entirely ; but the time did not come in my life when 
I was ready to give up all for Him, until thy mother taught 
me in a Sabbath-school class, with Rachel and Abbie Cam- 
eron, Henrietta’ Langstaff, and others; and I am not the 
only one she thus led into the Light. 

In the first ‘‘ meeting of ministers and elders” after thy — 
mother’s death, I rejoiced to hear the testimonies from one 
and another whom she had helped on in their efforts to be- 
come devoted followers of our ‘‘ blessed Christ.” 

With love, I am, as ever, thy friend, 


Muncie, Ind. NES Era 
Another : 


And so thy dearest mother has heard the welcome 
call, ‘‘Come up higher.” How fast they are gathering 
there,—those precious ones,—brightening heaven with their 
presence, ‘‘ white in the blood of the Lamb.” What a 
glorious exchange for her, from this life of pain and sorrow 
and darkness to the presence of the Son of God! So, my 
dear S., show forth Jesus and His dying love in a cheerful 
resignation to His will. Take up thy burden—no, lay it at 
Jesus’s feet—and take up the song of victory, and rejoice in 
Him. May His rich blessing be thine. : 

Lovingly thine, MESO 


Only a few days after the death of my dear moth- 


er came the following from a dear Christian friend 


residing in a distant state: 
August 4, 1883. 
DEAR SISTER :—The sad news came last night; but why 
should I say ‘‘sad”? For her, it is joyous, glorious ;—but 





TO GLORY. 205 


Te Se ee ST MO PM Me A SO 


my heart went out to you in loving sympathy, as I thought 
of the journey you must take alone for the rest of life’s pil- 
grimage ;—but then I remembered the holy dead, and that 
‘* Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord.” I know you 
must rejoice to feel that the mother, whose" life was so pre- 
cious to you, has entered through the gates into the beautiful 
city; and could you draw aside the dimming veil that inter- 
venes between you and that fair city, and behold the crown 
placed upon her dear brow by a Father’s hand, and hear 
the welcome words, ‘‘ Well done, good and faithful ser- 
vant,” you soon would bid your tearful eyes be dry, and 
your heart would throb with gladness as you were led to 
say, **‘ The Lord gaye, and the Lord hath taken away: 
blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

May He who walked upon the sea and bade the storm- 
tossed waves be still, speak in tender tones to the troubled | 
waters of your soul, and bid you look to Him with perfect 
trust. 

The remembrance of sympathizing words spoken to me 
when my heart lay at the Master’s feet, a bruised and 
broken reed, prompted me at this time to send these few 
feeble words to you, feeling that kind words might fall upon 
your drooping heart like dew upon the parched ground. 
You have my sympathy and earnest prayers. 

Yours in much love, CAINS 

CHERRY CREEK. 


1 cannot withhold a letter from the dear one 
spoken of in mother’s visit to Camden, N. J., in 
1880, she who was so suddenly called away only 
a few short weeks or months ago. The fond friend- 


206 THROUGH GRACE 


ship which bound us all together was most close 
and sacred here, and to those two it is now cemented 
in glory. It is dated 
. 
‘¢ SunseET Haven,” 8, 29, 1883. 

My Precious SisTER :—Could I put my arms around thee, - 
and whisper to thee all or even a small part of the thoughts 
which have stirred my soul since learning of thy sore be- 
reavement, I might hope to make thee comprehend, more 
fully than any written words can convey, how continually I 
have dwelt and wept with thee as the realization of thy loss 
and loneliness has pressed upon me; and how weeping has 
been exchanged for rejoicing, in that the precious saint has 
been gathered to her eternal home, ‘‘an heir of God and joint 
heir with Christ,” basking in the Presence that even here 
was to her reality, now in the full fruition of all her hopes. 
Dear S., she seems not far away. Sometimes in visions I 
appear to have had granted me a sight of dear departed saints 
‘¢ walking in white,” with presence ethereal, celestial, bright, 
real, beyond all power of delineation, ‘‘ for they are worthy,” 
and to the very border of the spirit-world I seem to have 
been with dear ‘‘ Aunt Harriet,” for whom I can only rejoice 
that sorrow, suffering, sickness, and even death itself, are 
conquered. But for thee, I do, dear sister, realize more and 
more the vacant chair, the desolation of the home bereft of 
so much brightness and cheer and true Christian joy. For 
thee, the most soothing and sustaining reflection must be, 
that He who ‘ bore our griefs and carried our sorrows” is 
truly ‘‘the same yesterday, to-day, and forever ;” that He 
never forsakes, but will be our loving Father at our side, 
even here, to the very end. . 





TO GLORY. 207 


rani Se 


It was exceedingly kind and sweet in our dear M. G. H. 
to write me so promptly and fully of this sorrowful event, 
and I can hardly find words to convey my grateful thanks. 
Her letter is most graceful and touching,—complete in its 
effective detail of blended woe and gladness. 

I seem to see thee in thy little home-nest, solitary and 
alone; yet not alone, for the presence of the blessed Holy 
Spirit seems to abide with thee, and to fill all the empty 
void. Be brave, dear sister ;— 


‘* Life’s journey speedeth on! 
Yet for a little while we walk in shade: 
Anon by Death the cloud is all dispersed, 
And o’er the hills of heaven the eternal day doth burst.” 


Thine in fullest sympathy and deepest love, 
SISTER PHEBE. 


As mentioned elsewhere in these pages, most of 
mother’s dearest friends were absent from the city 
eimidewdme of her death, it being the severest of 
Piemiieatea term when shé was taken sick. The 
following letter, from a very dear friend, was re- 


ceived soon after the severe afHiction: 


My Dear FRIEND SARAH R. STEER :—Letters received 
to-day inform us that thy dear mother has fallen asleep in 
Christ. There are many who will claim her as a mother, 
so lovingly and tenderly have her ministrations of counsel 
and encouragement been given. 

I well remember her words of advice to me when I was 
about twenty years of age, exhorting me to leave off some 


208 - THROUGH GRACE 


OS EWE Ae MO BM AP 


of the gayeties of my pleasures; and as well remember her 
words of testimony as to her own personal religious expe- 
rience at a time when my own was first finding form and 
establishment. 

Her Christian character always seemed to me entirely 
natural,—a beautiful harmony between life’s duties, and the 
reign of love in those duties. 

It will ever be a solace to thee to find, as life continues, 
how such a life, made beautiful in its resemblance to that of 
her Saviour, conquers time, and will be cherished as a strong 
argument to the reality of a Christian faith. | 

Accept renewed assurances of my esteem, a sincere mes- 
sage of hearty sympathy from my wife and myself and the 
various members of my household, and believe me very 
sincerely 

Thy friend, 
Newport, 8, 6, 1883. MurrRAY SHIPLEY. 


One who long had a home under her roof, and who 


knew her manner of life for many years, thus writes : 


My Dear FRIEND :—I mourn with and for thee; but 
how can we who have known dear ‘‘Aunt Harriet” but 
feel that she, having faithfully done her whole duty, per- 
fected her Christian character, ‘‘ fought the good fight of 
faith,” and set for all who knew her the beautiful example 
of patience and cheerfulness under trial, and entire consecra- 
tion to her Lord, has been taken from suffering to be forever 
with the loved ones gone before, and to realize the delights 
of that heaven whose light has irradiated her loved and 
happy face these many years. 





TO GLORY. 209 


EE SUE MEE MD MOO ME ee SU MON EE ee SOE sien 


Thee knows that if the spirits of our loved ones gone be- 
fore are allowed to revisit earth, hers is bending over thee 
now, whispering ‘‘ Peace, be still,” while she sees that to 
her beloved child this burden of sorrow brings a blessing of 
preparation for a reunion. Thee must try to forget thy 
grief, as thee is filled with rejoicing as thee realizes the 
happiness and glory of thy dearly loved mother. 

May grace, mercy, and peace be with thee, is the heartfelt 
prayer of 

Thy sincere friend, OFN aS: 


New York, Aug. 4, 1883. 


My Dear 5.:— When the tidings came of thy dear 
mother’s death, I could not write, and now I want to ex- 
press my deep sympathy, and say how truly rejoiced I am 
that we had the privilege of being with her even that one 
short day in Cincinnati,—we enjoyed. the blessed mother so 
much. She was so bright, and so much like herself as in 
the years past when I was a member of her pleasant home. 
I could not, in looking at her, or in the remembrance of her 
since, realize so many years had passed since that happy 
time. I cannot bear to think of thee without her, and at 
the same time I feel how thankful thee must ever be that 
thee was spared to minister to her last needs, and that she 
had thy loving presence to the last, . . . but such as 
she never die. 


‘¢She cannot die: lovely and pure and sweet, 
She rises in our daily paths our sorrowing hearts to greet.” 


Her whole life was one perpetual benediction. 





210 THROUGH GRACE 


Te ee ee ee 


God bless and keep thee, dear S., and comfort thee in this 
hour of thy deep sorrow. : 
Ever thine sincerely, Li ae 


New Beprorp, Aug. 27, 1883. 


Concorp, N. H., May 4th, 1887. 

My Very Dear Friend :—Alone with myself to-night, 
my thoughts have travelled back into the vanished years, to 
the delightful home of “Aunt Harriet” and her daughter 
Sarah. It was twenty-five years ago that they kindly took 
ws in—strangers in a strange city—-father, mother, and a 
baby boy. It was when all this broad land was trembling 
beneath the tramp of mighty armies, and the national pulse 
everywhere was at fever-beat. How peaceful it was, 
though, in our Quaker home! and how cool and refreshing 
the sweet influences that pervaded it! No lack of interest 
there in the stirring events.that were piling up history in 
deathless monuments; but a calm and unwavering faith in 
the justice of the God of battles—no matter how adverse and 
bitter the tidings from day to day—kept the currents of the 
daily life of that little family clear and sweet. It is most 
pleasant to think of ‘‘ Aunt Harriet” in those trying days. 
She was the mental balance-wheel that kept the whole 
family machinery steadily revolving, and her faith and hope 
and trust were always a substantial support to the weak and 
desponding. } 

Some of the pleasantest pictures in my Cincinnati gallery 
are connected with the home of ‘‘ Aunt Harriet.” Her fine 
‘presence’ as she moved about her house; the dignity, 
garnished with a geniality that was never absent from her 


LO -GLORY. 21! 


Lemme Ce 


face and speech, with which she presided at her table— 
unconsciously the absolute queen of a realm of loving sub- 
jects; the pleasant words that were never wanting at the 
proper time; the intense interest shown, in face and voice 
and gesture, in the literary and social exercises of the 
*¢ Once-a-Week” (where are all those lovely people now?) 
which occasionally met within her hospitable doors,—are 
all pictures whose colors will never grow dim until the eyes 
that looked upon them in love shall have faded into the 
cold, dull gray of death. 

Another beautiful picture hangs on these same dusty 
walls—the charming companionship and whole-souled com- 
radeship of mother and daughter, more like an elder and a 
younger sister than anything else. Almost always together, 
except when the daily business of life necessarily separated 
them, they seemed to be walking hand in hand over the 
varying rough and smooth places of life, supporting each 
other with mutual love and helpfulness. I rarely think of 
one without thinking of the other; and when, a few years 
ago, the twain were induced to spend a week at our home 
among the New Hampshire hills, it was a never to be for- 
gotten pleasure to their hosts. 

And now, my dear friend, I can scarcely think of thee as 
walking life’s path alone; for somehow I seem to see, ever 
beside thee, the form of thy mother. Thou art not support- 
ing her, as in the old days was thy wont, but she, instead, 
seems to be helping thee. Her form is more ethereal than 
of yore; it has lost its aspect of pain; its elements are pure 
heavenly ; and the face is illumined with unearthly beauty. 
On the other side of thee walks Another—One who has 
been thy Friend and Companion for many years ;—and 





252 THROUGH? GRACE 


TRUSTe PM Se Se 


between them thy step is firm and thy heart is light. It is 
an earthly-heavenly picture—a combination from no human 
artist’s brush—one to be treasured until all that is earthly 
fades into the glories of life eternal. 

Sincerely thine, 


EL Aaa 


CINCINNATI, June 24, 1887. 

My Dear Miss STEER: — The time I spent in your 
mother’s family was a very uneventful season for the mem- 
bers of the household. The departure of a husband and 
wife to set up housekeeping for themselves; the coming of 
another couple to take the room they had vacated ; the pur- 
chase of a new carpet; a Christmas—and, by the way, the 
only really happy Christmas I have ever seen celebrated 
outside of a strictly family circle,—these were about as mo- 
mentous events as occurred during my stay. The house 
was full. I had to lodge outside and come in for my meals, 
and had but little opportunity to see your mother, except at 
the table, where she always presided, and knew how to 
infuse cheerfulness and social feeling into every one; and 
occasionally of an evening, or on first day afternoons, she 
would spend some hours in the parlor in general conversa- 
tion. 

My family and intimate friends, who know how often I 
talk of your mother’s house, would naturally think that I 
must have much to write about her. In fact, I thought so 
myself till I began to try to order my recollections, so as to 
put them on paper, and then I found that I could give noth- 
ing of what might properly be called her history; that I 


TO GLORY. oi bs 


CU CU Me CO Re Re Se minim o 


could not even tell an anecdote about her; that it was, in 
fact, the absence of all ‘+ feverish ways,” of all ‘‘ strain and 
stress,” of all that goes to make up history, that made that 
Quaker home attractive to me. And that still lingers with 
me as a beautiful mountain scene.—a painting we saw years 
ago,—or a strain of melody that we heard, perhaps, on our 
mother’s knee, haunts the memory. 

I became aware—I know not how—that Friend Steer was 
very charitable, that many poor persons depended upon 
her, and that she ordered her household well. 

It was the quiet calm of an unwavering faith with which 
she was ever ready to utter her religious convictions that 
first opened to my mind the—may I use the word in this 
connection ?—beauties of the Friends’ creed, and that toa 
great extent influenced my views of the great questions of 
the life that now is and of that which is to come; that has 
helped me through all these years, with God’s help, to bear 
with those who trespassed against me amidst all the strife, 
the bitter experiences, that life brings—the betrayals of con- 
fidence, that make one lose confidence in one’s fellow-men 
—not to lose faith and trust and hope. I do not say that I 
did as well as she did, nor as well as I should have done, 
but that it is due to a kind Providence, which brought me 
under her influence, that I did no worse. If your mother’s 
bright example and her ways of pleasantness have shed as 
much light on other lives as they have on mine, many shall 
call her blessed—as I do. 

Yours, truly, 
FRED’kK W. Boye. 


214 THROUGH GRACE 
“« She waits for me.’ I said it in my weeping, 
For nevermore she cometh o’er the sea. 
She waits for me! a glorious vigil keeping 
Beyond the stars,—she waiteth there for me. 
And now I walk awhile 
Beneath the palm-trees lonely, 
And learn once more to smile, 
For she hath gladness only. 
Beside the Crystal Sea, 
Until the shadows flee, 
She waits for me.” 


Since mother’s death two of her own family have 
gone to join her ‘‘ over there,’—her only remaining 
brother, Samuel, and a nephew, the oldest son of 
her brother Gibbons. 

‘©°T is sweet, as year by year we lose 


Friends out of sight, in faith to muse,— 


How grows in Paradise our store.” 
—Keble. 


‘¢ Those who live in the Lord never see each other for the last 
time. 


She and J. 


I said, ‘* She is dead.”’ I could not brook 


Again on that marvellous face to look! 


But they took my hand, and they led me in, 


And left me with her of my dearest kin. 


TO GLORY. 215 


EE Mee SU SO ME ED MY MN MY ev 


And I could not speak, and I could not stir, 


But I stood, and with love I gazed on her: 


With love, and rapture, and strange surprise 


~I looked on the lips and the close shut eyes ; 


On the perfect rest and the calm content 


And the peace that were in her features blent, 


And the thin, white hands that had wrought so much, 


Now nerveless to kisses or fevered touch— 


My beautiful dead, who had left the strife, 


The pain, and the grieving that we call life ; 


Who had never faltered beneath her cross, 


Nor murmured when loss followed swift on loss. 


And the smile that sweetened her face alway 


Lay light on her blessed mouth that day. 


I smoothed from her hair a silver thread, 


And I wept,—but I could not make her—dead. 


‘I felt, with a feeling too deep for speech, 


She could teach me only what angels teach, 


And down to her lips I leaned my ear, 


Lest there might be something I could not hear. 


216 THROUGH GRACE 


PT en Te SO CO Ce MO Se TE Pn ee | 


Then out of the silence between us stole 


A message from her to my inmost soul: 


‘© Why weep you to-day, who have wept before 


That the road was rough I must journey o’er? 


‘¢ Why weep you, whose tears have been used to fall 


That I could not gather earth’s sweetness all ? 


‘¢Why mourn that you come, and I greet you not? 


Now anguish and sorrow are both forgot. 


‘¢ Behold! all my life I have longed for rest, 


Yea, e’en when I held you against my breast,— 


‘¢ And now that I lie in a breathless sleep, 


Instead of rejoicing, you sigh and weep. 


‘¢My dearest, I know that you would not break, 


If you could, my slumber, and have me wake,— 


‘¢ For though what is past I can love and bless, 


Till now I have never known happiness.” 


So I dried my tears, and with noiseless tread 


I left my mother—my beautiful dead ! 


TO GLORY. 217 


Te TCCE AUNT OTS OED SOOO SOGNe TORE MUTE StU TODO TOE OO 


aly Oton Cestimony. 


The life my mother lived was to me the most 
impressive sermon. A living gospel written in my 
heart is she. A faith so unfaltering ; a trust so calm 
and firm; such sweet humility, yet holy fear, in the 
cause nearest and dearest to her heart; her social 
value and endearments,—how beautiful to contem- 
plate! I can truly say it is my daily delight to 
dwell upon her character, as I daily mourn my loss 
and rejoice in her fulness of bliss. This sorrow 
and rejoicing, with the wish to grow more and more 
like her, I desire to lose only in the reunion with 
those that keep the ‘‘commandments of God and 
the faith of Jesus,” where the song of victory is 
ever heard. 


‘* Forever with the Lord! 
Amen. So let it be: 
Life from the dead is in that word— 
’Tis Immortality.” 


218 THROUGH GRACE 


PU LL 


“Che Land Reyond the Sew.” 


. * The Land beyond the Sea! 
How close it often seems, | 
When flushed with evening’s peaceful gleams : 
And the wistful heart looks o’er the strait, and dreams ! 
It longs to fly to thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


‘¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
Sometimes, distinct and near, 
It grows upon the eye and ear, 
And the gulf narrows to a threadlike mere: 
We seem half way to thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


‘¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
Sometimes across the strait, 
Like a draw-bridge to a castle gate, 
The slanting sunbeams lie, and seem to wait 


For us to pass to thee, 


Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


‘¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
Oh! how the lapsing years, 


TO GLORY. 219 


Mid our not unsubmissive tears, 

Have borne—now singly, now in fleets—the biers 
Of those we love to thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


‘¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
How dark our present home! 
By the dull beach and sullen foam 
How wearily, how drearily we roam, 
With arms outstretched to thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


*¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
When will our toil be done? 
Slow-footed years! more swiftly run 
Into the gold of that unsetting sun! 

Homesick we are for thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


*¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
Why fadest thou in light? 
Why art thou better seen towards night? 
Dear Land, look always plain, look always bright, 
That we may gaze on thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! 


220 THROUGH GRACE 


‘¢ The Land beyond the Sea! 
Sweet is thine endless rest ; 
But sweeter far that Father’s breast, 
Upon thy shores eternally possessed, 
For Jesus reigns o’er thee, 
Calm Land beyond the Sea! ” 





LOLGCLORY. m221 


Pe ee 


PseoA 


THESE ARE THEY WHICH CAME OUT OF GREAT TRIBULATION, 
AND HAVE WASHED THEIR ROBES AND MADE THEM WHITE IN 
THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB. THEREFORE ARE THEY BEFORE 
THE THRONE OF GOD, AND SERVE HIM DAY AND NIGHT IN 
His TEMPLE: AND HE THAT SITTETH ON THE THRONE SHALL 
DWELL AMONG THEM. ‘THEY SHALL HUNGER NO MORE, NEI- 
THER THIRST ANY MORE; NEITHER SHALL THE SUN LIGHT ON 
THEM, NOR ANY HEAT. FOR THE LAMB WHICH IS IN THE 
MIDST OF THE THRONE SHALL FEED THEM, AND SHALL LEAD 
THEM UNTO LIVING FOUNTAINS OF WATERS: AND GOD SHALL 


WIPE AWAY ALL TEARS FROM THEIR EYES, 


OYA 

















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